Darkness Chronicles: a Crossover
by Magister Archive
Summary: see profile for detailed synopses. Across the unimaginable totality of existence, the very fundamentals that define reality have become unstable. Can the collapse be halted, or is all destined to fall and fail in a final, ruinous oblivion?
1. Book I: Part I: Chapter I

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Note to fanfiction,net readers:

as I'm posting more chapters, I thought I might as well re-send Ch. 1, with the foreword after, rather than before the story. Unfortunately, fanfiction,net rules don't allow non-story content to be submitted as a separate entry, but putting a lengthy foreword first probably is about the best way imaginable to ensure the story doesn't get read. ^_^

Also, sorry for the inevitable formatting butchery; it doesn't seem to matter what one does, fanfiction,net seems to do it's absolute damnedest to trample anything but the most basic included HTML code, and make one hell of a mess. I think I've beaten it at last, but I'd be prepared to bet that plenty of others have thought the same. ^_^

All right; that's it. Enjoy, and of course reviews would be greatly appreciated.

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Disclaimer:

Own only original stuff; not doing this for profit; suing would be pointless.

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Pain and numbing fear, and a terrible, soul-deep cold. These were the first sensations that told her she was waking once more, returning from the soothing, gentle oblivion she had prayed would take her at last, to the nightmare ruin and the terror that she alone of them seemed still able to endure.

A scream; then the wild, depraved laughter of their captor. Was that what had woken her? She could no longer tell.

The scream came again, a long, drawn sound of unimaginable pain.

Mousse, she thought, with a numb horror and terrible detachment. Shampoo would follow, Mousse so drained and broken that he could do nothing save to watch and whimper helplessly, as she was tormented yet again. Then would come Ukyou. Ryoga was already lost, his ruin all too easy once he had been trapped in his cursed form, powerless to act while she was tormented and shattered while he writhed and screamed in helpless negation.

Ukyou would scream, her madness divided between pleading for his forgiveness, and her witless shrieking for her Ranchan somehow to find her.

Then would come Tofu. Kasumi, mercifully, had died during the beginning, and before her complement could claim her, incredibly, admirably stoic and silent in the face of horror and nightmare beyond all any of them could once have begun to comprehend. Without her, Tofu had seemed to collapse in upon himself, broken at last when it had seemed he was almost the strongest of them all.

Perhaps, with the last vestige of humanity and compassion: with the last dying flicker of a soul able once to understand warmth and laughter and something other than the twisted, nightmare perversion of ruinous delight and appetite, their captor had spared kasumi the agony that seemed to stretch back in her own mind into nightmare eons beyond hope of recall. She prayed still that it might somehow be so.

Who next? Tatewaki. He would rave again, his mind a shattered, broken thing, ranting in imbecilic, lunatic soliloquy of the glory of his sacrifice for his two loves, and the splendour of the celebrations upon the day when they should understand at last the fullness of his triumph; when they would be freed from the accursed Saotome, and be his own until the uttermost end of time.

She would cry then in the dark and the terrible cold, her heart breaking again and yet again as she understood too late how impossibly, desperately brave and faithful he had proved at the very end, when she had hated him; when she had refused to understand.

"Oh my Ranma!" she would whisper, her soft words choked with emotion, not ashamed to cry whilst alone, pain more than any terror their tormenter could give, tearing at the shattered ruin of her heart. "Oh Ranma, forgive him. Please forgive! He understood, even if his pride would never let him speak until it was too late. Oh my love, my life, forgive him; forgive us all!"

Of the others, she could not bare to think.

Genma, bound now as had been Ryoga, in his cursed form, a shattered, mindless ruin of the man he had been, having long lost all power of thought and reason, would roar and howl in witless agony for the little time their captor still troubled to spend in his torment; after all, he gave her now little sport, less even than his life-long friend whilst he had yet lived. At Genma's breaking, Soun had retreated swiftly, his last hope lost, his mind fleeing the terror into memories of his wife and the three daughters he had once had, when such an end as this was beyond all save the darkest madness of nightmare. His end too, mercifully, had been swift.

Nabiki would be last, before herself of course, her own torture exquisite and prolonged, the screams and pleading in the cell next to her own, and the laughing wild words of her tormenter seeming to freeze her very soul and heart, while she fought desperately to hold only to the rage and the hatred, praying to whatever gods might exist still beyond the wreck of the world that her Ranma might somehow still escape the crystal into which Cologne, desperate for a last trump to play against the darkness, had sealed him ere she and Happosai had died during the final assault, and ere he could be taken.

The dungeon was bitterly cold.

She shivered, trying even in her bonds to curl about herself, desperate for what little warmth she could find.

She could not stand much more. The others were already broken beyond hope: lost, shattered ruins of what they had been. Only Ryoga, through sheer physical endurance and the desperate, struggling love for Ukyou he had found after akari's death in the last bitter days before his end, and she herself, her faith in Ranma a bright, shining thing that no pain or torment could break, had shown any real resistance.

And now he was gone. Alone, without help or hope, only she was still aware and rational enough to fight with what little remained to her. If their captor broke her: if she shattered at last the last of the souls by which Cologne had bound the crystal, then Ranma was hers, mind and soul: hers for ever.

And with his taking would end all hope for what remained of the physical world, and the broken fragments of humanity that fought yet against the horror of the things from the antireal oblivion beyond any hell, that had come to claim them. With that, her mistress's power: her triumph, would be complete, and all would end; for ever.

She shivered again. Mousse's screams had ceased, dying to pitiful whimpers, before he fell at last into sounds beyond the reach of her ears. For a long moment there was silence. Then suddenly there came the echoing boom of the heavy iron door of his cell.

She waited, knowing that Shampoo's lost, agonised screaming would soon begin. But instead, she heard the sudden wild peal of searing, terrible laughter, and a moment later, the sound of approaching footfalls.

Terror leapt in her. She _never_ changed her routine. Not once since their capture had it altered. Each was tormented with exquisite care, the torment at first for their benefit, then, as each broke, for that of those remaining, as much as for her own pleasure. But now the footfalls drew nearer, until at last they halted at the cell beside her own.

The door opened, then the voice purred, soft and silkily warm, yet with an added, hideous something that stung the ears, and seared the mind and soul with a wrenching, twisting agony and poisonous dread: "Wakey wakey, Nabiki-chan! Visiting time again! A little play for a while, and for her benefit. She's listening, you know: her ears straining to catch every last sound, even though she never wants to hear, while her eyes are staring so wide into the dark. And I imagine her poor little heart is going pitter-pat, pitter-pat so _very_ fast, knowing what will happen when you stop being fun today. Oh, her fear will be exquisite.

"Well, shall we get started?"

Then the screams began.

She did not listen. Despite what their captor believed, she had learned to shut out the worst of the horror, knowing that to do anything else: to think or hear while the torment continued, meant the end. She waited, curiously astounded that she could pick the moment the torture would end with such precision, counting down the seconds with a numb, horrible detachment, until the last screams had died to tiny whimpers, then at last to silence.

"Still a little fire, Nabiki-chan?" the ruinous voice purred again. "Still just a little hope?

"What price for your freedom, I wonder? What would you ask? Shall we bargain, Nabiki-chan? Shall I name a price, a payment in someone else's pain: the torment of a friend to spare you any more?

"No? Still that doesn't appeal to you?

"Perhaps something else? A dream, a fantasy of the wealth and power you could have possessed? A moment with poor, mad Kuno-chan, perhaps?"

Abruptly there came the ringing crack of a frigid, searing hand against skin, followed by another scream of wild, depraved laughter.

Nabiki did not answer. She would be passed responding for the moment.

For seconds that seemed to stretch to eternity, the laughter continued, a sound of horror to flay the ears, and fill the mind with a broken, gibbering despair. Then there was a second crack, a tiny whimper, then the door crashed closed once more and the footfalls drew near.

It was time.

Fighting down the leaping terror with a strength born of rage and savage desperation, she dragged herself erect, facing the door and the coming torment with all the will and courage she yet possessed, determined still to deny them, and to endure.

Then the door crashed open, and the thing that had once been a girl stood before her.

For what seemed a timeless moment both appeared frozen, she staring at the creature of nightmare oblivion, the blazing blue-black hair wild and lifted as though with some inner power, the red blood-covered lips parted in a depraved smile of ruinous triumph and unholy appetite.

Then the thing that had once been Tendo Akane surged towards her, and Kuno Kodachi began to scream.

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Darkness Chronicles  
An anime-Manga Cross-over

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Book I:  
Part I: The Gathering  
Chapter I:

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"Ranma-sama!" The wild, sultry voice purred. "Awake my darling; the guests are waiting. You can't possibly sleep now. Oh my Ranma-sama, do wake up!"

"Ranma not sleep now while wedding so close, and Shampoo waiting! Shampoo not here to sit and watch husband sleep!"

"Oh Ranchan, how could you sleep now, when I've waited so long for this moment?"

"Ranma! Ranma, wake up!"

This last was a scream almost in his ear. In the next moment, a bucket of icy water caught him full in the face.

With an "Apppplbbb!" of startled shock, the now female Ranma shot from her futon, her eyes darting wildly about her for a moment with the remains of her nightmare, before coming to rest at last on the smirking girl who had settled back on her heels, a momentary almost playful smile dancing in her eyes as she fought to control her rising laughter.

Ranma glared down at her. She had slept far from soundly, troubled yet again by surreal, chaotic dreams of that last, nightmare trip to China and the near-disaster of the failed wedding, and she was in no mood for her fiancée's amusement at her expense.

"Oh very funny, Akane!" she growled, her tone a good deal harsher than usual. "Whad'd'ya have to do that for? Can't you just wake me up like any normal person, or is that too much to ask?"

For answer, Akane's laughter vanished, her own expression darkening as she glared back in her turn.

"What do you _think_ I did it for?" she demanded, snatching up the discarded bucket, and surging angrily to her feet. "We _do_ have school today, in case you'd forgotten, not to mention two tests this morning for which you should have been ready weeks ago. Baka; I could have just let you lie there; in fact, it would have served you right if I had."

"Yeah?" Ranma shot back. "Well at least then I wouldn't've been female and half soaked to start the day! Only some crazy, kawaikunee tomboy like you could think it was a good idea to wake someone up by screaming in their ear and half tryin' to drown them."

"Is that so?" she flared furiously. "And only some insensitive, baka hentai such as you could forget that you promised me last night that you'd wake up early this morning so I could help you study, something you should have been doing for the past week. Unless of course you'd rather fail the end of year exams? I only tried five times while you just lay there with your baka mouth open. I don't know why I bothered. I get up early to help you, _and_ to spar with you while your father's away, _and_ to cook you breakfast, and this is the thanks I get."

"At least if I'd woken up myself…" Ranma began. Then abruptly the last part of Akane's statement penetrated.

"You cooked breakfast!" she exclaimed in horror. "Wha'd'ya trying to do! Today's gunna be bad enough without food poisoning to add to what's already waiting for me. Jeez Akane, I told you I'd do the cooking while everyone else's away. At least then I might live to see them come back. Even Kodachi's cooking'd have to be better than the stuff you call food, and you'd have to be as crazy as her and Kuno to try anything she made. I dunno why yours waits till its on the plate before it tries to kill me! Why don't you just let it loose in the house if you want to get rid of me so much? I bet it could find its way right up here and—"

She might well have continued like this for some considerable time, but for the fact that by now the room was positively bathed in the blazing blue glow of Akane's battle-aura as she glared hideous, screaming pain in her fiancé's direction.

"Oh, is that right!" she said, her voice deceptively quiet. "Well then," she screamed suddenly at the very top of her lungs, "why don't you just go and find out just how good Kodachi's cooking is, since you know so much about it!"

In the next instant, the familiar, but in this case particularly enraged: "RANMA NO _BAKA_!" seemed almost to shake the house.

A moment later, Ranma was given a ticket care of Tendo sub-orbital express into the stratosphere. A faint cry of: "See what I mean! CRAZY KAWAIIKUNE…!" could be heard fading swiftly into the quiet of early morning. Then there was silence, save for the patter of falling plaster, and the soft, almost inaudible choking as the tears fell and Akane glared murderously in the direction she had taken.

So pointless, like all the increasingly bitter words since the disaster of the failed wedding, when she had believed somehow that the madness was at last at an end, and the anger and misunderstandings that seemed to have characterised their fractious relationship since that first fateful day Ranma had entered her already chaotic life, behind them for ever.

A thousand memories played yet again in her mind, a sudden almost overwhelming exhaustion and futility settling over her, as the tears continued to fall unchecked, and still she stood and did not move.

She supposed she should have known better: that it had been absurd to believe that this latest fiasco could end in any other way than disaster. Yet it did not lessen the pain and the sense of overwhelming betrayal. She should not have expected more of Shampoo; the amazon had made it clear from the outset, and despite any fleeting sense of camaraderie or perhaps even a genuine if ever-transient friendship, that she would win Ranma no matter what the cost, and to expect anything other than the worst of Kodachi was at best a study in dangerous self-delusion.

But Ukyou had been at least nominally a friend, despite all their differences and the rivalry that had kept a distance between them. That she had stooped to something like that, and worse, in a situation in which innocent bystanders could seriously have been hurt…

Akane clenched her hands yet again as she recalled Sayuri's tears, while Hiroshi and a trembling Yuka had tried to calm her down, and Daisuke had stood, eyes blazing and fists clenched convulsively at his sides, and could do nothing.

The Okonomiyaki chef had vanished before she had had a chance to confront her, and she had turned her anger that evening (perhaps unfairly, she had realised too late) upon Ranma, their increasingly bitter argument ending with her screaming at him that if this was what she could expect of their future together, then perhaps after all it was just as well things had turned out as they had before she had made the biggest mistake of her life.

She had regretted the words the moment they had left her lips, but as always it was too late, and she had watched with a rising sense of helplessness as he had frozen, a momentary anguish and incomprehension flickering deep in his blue-grey eyes, before both had vanished and he had simply turned away.

Akane had watched stunned as he had tensed, then leapt away without a backwards glance, vanishing swiftly into the twilight before she could think to call to him, or hope to follow. She had tried vainly for nearly two hours to find him, while the anger grew both with him and herself, until at last she had returned defeated, and slipped silently to her room so that no one would see the pain or the tears.

Only next morning had she learnt to her shame that he had gone in turn to the home of each of the guests and the few friends from Furinkan who had been invited, apologising personally to them and to their families, before moving quietly on. The news had stunned her at least as much as anything Ranma had yet done, the more so when she understood that Sayuri had found it easy to forgive him, and that even Yuka, although still furious on her friend's behalf, had simply nodded and forced a smile, and declared the incident passed, if not yet entirely forgotten. Akane had felt very small then, recalling her words of the night before, when as always she had simply exploded without giving him a chance to explain or say his piece.

The last week had been one of the worst she had known in the year since his arrival, with their arguments growing increasingly more bitter, while a slow weariness and sense of hopeless despair seemed to settle ever more heavily in her heart, until at last, two nights before, after a particularly protracted and pointless row throughout the evening meal had ended with her shattering a plate to a thousand fragments on his head before sending him yet again on an impromptu flight, Kasumi had risen quietly from her place, given her a single glance that had frozen her where she stood, and said quietly that she wished to speak to her in her room the moment she had finished in the kitchen.

Akane had waited, her initial trepidation growing to an unreasoning fear as the minutes passed and all seemed unnaturally still and silent, until at last there had come the sounds of her elder sister's approaching footfalls, and the quiet tapping at her door.

It had been one of the hardest half-hours in her life, with Kasumi's quiet admonitions seeming to hurt far more than any anger might have done, until at last she had simply collapsed in tears in her elder sister's arms, unable to explain why things seemed suddenly so hopeless, or understand what she might do to try to make amends.

Kasumi had simply held her until the tears had ceased. Then nodding as though reaching some long-considered decision, she had risen quietly to her feet and left the room, pausing only to assure herself that Akane had calmed and would be all right.

It was the next morning that their father had announced to an unusually subdued household that the family would be leaving that afternoon for three nights and two days to give her and Ranma some time entirely to themselves. What they did with that time was their decision, but he hoped they would use it wisely.

Akane had been shocked. This was not yet another transparent attempt on his part to force them closer together, although she had found herself wondering later whether thought of it might not have made at least the elder Saotome so amenable to the idea. Like Kasumi, her father had at last reached the limits of his patience, and was giving them this last opportunity to prove themselves adult and responsible enough to sort out the chaos their lives had become, before the next fiasco saw someone seriously hurt, or worse. Just where the others were going, and how Kasumi had convinced even Nabiki to agree without complaint, Akane had not asked, and a single warning look from both her father and her eldest sister had forestalled any protest she might have made.

As promised, the house had been deserted when she and Ranma had arrived home from school that afternoon, with a brief note in Kasumi's neat hand wishing them luck, and assuring them that the kitchen was well stocked with all they would need, the not so subtle inference being that they would be expected to fend entirely for themselves, a supposition proved correct when Akane entered the kitchen to find that her sister had either disposed of or taken with her anything that could possibly be prepared simply by reheating.

That had precipitated the first argument of the evening, with Akane setting immediately to work in the kitchen, while Ranma first tried to insist that he do the cooking until the others returned, and then simply insulted her until she had sent him to the koi pond for his trouble.

The meal had been a disaster, and she had fled crying to her room, emerging only hours later to find the house deserted, but a covered dish left for her in the kitchen.

She had been tempted simply to wash what Ranma had made for her down the sink, insensitive arrogant baka! But hunger had won out, and she had forced herself to finish it, her momentary temptation to admit he had been concerned for her replaced by a growing anger at the realisation that he had proven himself yet again so much better than her at something she longed desperately to be able to

do.

It was perhaps an hour before midnight when she had been roused from a restless half-sleep by the quiet tap at her window. Her anger had cooled but not vanished, and she had been tempted to hurl an insult or worse at him. But finally she had let him in, and they had tried to talk, the conversation stumbling as always, until at last, desperate to do something, she had made the offer to help him early next morning with the coming tests she knew he had tried to ignore, suggesting tentatively also that she might spar with him before school, since his father was not there. Neither had mentioned the taboo subject of food, and he had left, promising that he would be awake and ready early in the morning.

Akane shook her head, trying yet again to dash away the tears. She should have known something like this would happen: that they could not go a single morning without some ridiculous incident precipitating yet one more pointless exchange. And now any chance of their sparring or studying before school was ruined, and she would have to arrange for the hole to be repaired, and the day would be as hopeless as these last few before it, and… Suddenly the exhaustion and depression seemed almost too much to bear. She was tired: so desperately tired of the hurt and the anger and all the madness that seemed destined to pursue them until the end of time. If only just once things would go as she wished: if just once she could go a single day without finding reason to be angry with him, and he a day without the seeming insatiable need to hurt her.

Fighting the sudden almost overwhelming urge to burst again into tears, Akane turned, moving wearily from the room and towards the stairs once more. Breakfast was a disaster. Perhaps after all it was just as well she had not thrown away the additional food Ranma had prepared the night before.

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With a sigh, Ranma-chan looked down at Nerima from her new vantage point. The district certainly looked picturesque from up here in the early morning. Not that she was in any mood to appreciate it just at the moment.

"That crazy, kawaikunee otemba!" she muttered yet again, feeling gingerly at her jaw, where a purpling bruise was already beginning to rise.

Why was it that she did not seem to be able to go a single morning, let alone a day, since the fiasco of the wedding, without Akane trying half to kill her? And why was it so impossible after all this time, for her fiancée to accept that her cooking could best be equated to some kind of slow and particularly sadistic torture, and leave it at that?

Ranma-chan shook her head, simply dismissing both problems as insoluble. A moment later her mind turned to more immediate concerns as she began to descend once more, a momentary half-smile of wry amusement touching her face as she noted that, even now when she was already female and half drenched, fate or the curse was still determined to prove a very hackneyed point before she reached home again.

With another sigh, she surrendered to the inevitable as the canal approached. Moments later she had reached the end of her morning flight, and the water closed over her. There was a swirl, then a sopping-wet head of red hair poked above the water.

"That violent, kawaikunee—" Ranma-chan complained as though in completion of the ritual, as she scrambled ashore and took to the roof-tops. She was certainly not going to use a more conventional route to return to the Tendo-ke, given that she was clothed in nothing but the boxers he had worn to bed the night before. "Just how many times does she have to nearly kill me before it sinks in? Jeez, even Kotobuki Shiko's cooking'd have to be less dangerous than hers! At least you seem to be able to tell what that stuff's gunna do just by looking at it, and it only tries to poison Eiko once. Akane's has to do the big stomach dance first! And even when it looks and tastes kinda alright, that's only because it hasn't quite decided just how it's gunna try to make me regret daring to eat it!"

Abruptly she felt another smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, as she imagined with a sudden appreciative shudder the havoc the animate and Akane would cause together in a kitchen.

Akane had not seemed particularly to have appreciated his sense of humour, when he had inquired, after a particularly painful incident less than a month before, as to whether she had somehow managed to have the creators of Project Eiko try some of what she called food, for them to get so close to the truth in the anime, and further, why Nabiki had never considered trying to sell the stuff to the SDF as some kind of biological weapon. Surely she'd make a lot more than selling photos of Akane and his female form.

The elder girl had favoured him with a considering smirk, touched for a moment with something warm and genuinely amused, before Akane had chased both of them furiously from the house, although she had confined her subsequent retribution to Ranma.

Smiling still more at the memory, Ranma-chan made the last leap and landed on the Tendo roof. Moments later she was climbing in at her window and heading for the furo. From the kitchen came the unmistakable sounds of the microwave, mixed with the faint smell of something burning, and Ranma-chan shook her head, giving its general direction one resigned glance before turning hastily away and entering the bathroom, sliding the outer door closed with excessive care behind her.

Not that it would do any good. Akane seemed to have a sixth sense where her cooking and Ranma were concerned.

Shaking her head once more, Ranma moved quickly to the inner room. Soon, the furo filling, she was pouring cold water over herself, while the faint sounds from the kitchen quieted, and she thought she caught an exclamation of irritation and dismay, quickly cut short. Finished at last, she moved swiftly to the furo, grinning for a moment at the thought that Akane might actually have had to try the toxic concoction she had created, before she settled at last into the hot water with a sigh of content.

Ranma felt the familiar tingle as the change began to sweep through her. In the next instant her stomach lurched violently. Then for a timeless moment, the room was gone, and there was nothing save a stark, nightmare confusion and a sudden almost overwhelming sense of plunging headlong into some incalculable, soaring abyss, while a fleeting swirl of jagged, nauseous colour danced savagely across her vision. And at the edge of hearing was a sound that had no name, but was ancient and dreadful beyond the last end of a final, ruinous oblivion.

Reeling, aware for a terrible space almost of nothing save the impression and the primal, leaping horror it had wrought, Ranma swayed, clutching with convulsive force at the furo, the unreasoning terror surging wildly in its wake, until at last the dreadful intensity was gone, and he was himself again.

For a time he remained frozen, hands clenched painfully about the cool smoothness of the wood, while his heart hammered savagely in his chest, and his breath came in rapid gasps. But at last as the immediacy of the experience began to fade and common sense reasserted itself, he shook his head, trying to dismiss the moment as his imagination, or perhaps some sympathetic reaction to what was no doubt awaiting him in the dining-room.

Releasing his hold, he shook off the last of the fear as best he could, and lay back in the soothing warmth of the steaming water, determined to savour these few minutes of peace before the insanity the day would no doubt become. Sighing, he let his eyes drift half closed, the barely-heard sounds of Akane attempting some further disaster in the kitchen fading slowly as he let the stillness take him, and tried to forget his troubles for a while. Yet the lingering sense of horror and taut, irrational unease would not leave him, and he could not quite relax.

* * *

"Shampoo? Where are you, child?"

With a sigh, the purple-haired amazon set the comb aside, glancing for one last moment towards the half-open window, before turning to make her way quickly from her small room, and along the short passage to the stairs.

"Coming, Great-grandmother," she called as she began down, wincing a little as her careless speed jarred her left arm again.

Her great-grandmother had done her best, but the arm was still painful, and her hand still a little swollen, although she had been able to remove the splint the night before.

Shampoo shivered, the momentary savage stab of pain reminding her yet again of the fiasco that had very nearly ended in such disaster. Never had she imagined Ranma capable of such anger, nor that she would ever see such a look of mingled fury and betrayal in his blue-grey eyes as he had met her gaze for one frozen moment, before he had come hurtling towards her, and her world had exploded in pain. She should have known; the signs could not have been clearer after their last near-disastrous trip to china, and his final climactic battle with Saffron. But as always, she had ignored the warnings and her own growing sense of futility, and gone ahead despite her misgivings and her great-grandmother's warning that she feared at last that her great-granddaughter's prospective groom had reached the limits of his patience, and that she would need this time to be consummately careful if she were to have any hope of winning him without destroying her chance for ever.

Shampoo knew she should have listened: that in retrospect, nothing could have been more foolish than to attack Akane so directly and with such ferocity; the days when such tactics might have had any chance of success were long passed. But she had been desperate, understanding suddenly that her last chance might be slipping away from her, and that should she do nothing, it could be lost beyond hope of recall.

She shivered again, quickening her pace despite another savage flash of pain from her still-healing arm, as she reached the foot of the stairs and moved quickly into the small private dining-room-come-parlour where her great-grandmother was waiting for her.

She preferred not to think about her return to the Nekohanten, the shame of her disgrace, and the still-deeper hurt of the knowledge that this time Ranma might very well never forgive her, far worse than any physical pain as her great-grandmother had tended to her broken arm and hand and the countless other lesser injuries, while she fought savagely against the sudden desperate desire to weep, and Mousse stood by silent and unmoving, and for once, said nothing.

She had returned to work as best she could, even though she suspected her great-grandmother would have let her rest, at least for a day or two. But at night she had cried herself silently to sleep in the dark where no one would see, until at last, the night before, long after Mousse was safely asleep, the ancient amazon had come quietly to her room and told her firmly, although not without kindness, that it was time she stopped hiding from the consequences of what she had done, and made an attempt to win Ranma's forgiveness before it was too late.

For a fleeting moment Shampoo had been furious that her great-grandmother would suggest she was afraid. Then she had raised bleary eyes to catch for an instant the flicker of something resigned and weary in the elder's face, and her anger had fled to be replaced by shame and acceptance. It was true; she had barely left the restaurant since the disaster of the wedding, insisting to herself that she had too much to do, and that she did not want to risk more severe and protracted an injury should she risk riding before her hand and arm were better healed. Yet she had known that in truth she was simply afraid: afraid to approach Ranma: afraid to see again the look that had torn at her heart and left her helpless and unable to defend herself as he had launched himself savagely towards her.

Unable to think of anything to say, Shampoo had nodded, waiting unmoving while her great-grandmother had held her gaze for a moment more before the elder had reached to lay a gnarled hand gently on her arm.

"All is not yet lost, child," she had said simply, her fingers tightening briefly before she released her. "We will talk in the morning."

And with that she had turned and moved quietly from the room.

"Shampoo?"

With a start at the sudden sharp tone, Shampoo shook off her introspection and turned her full attention to the elder who sat in the low chair facing her, a small table drawn to her side on which Shampoo saw now lay several bound scrolls and a small jade box, set with an intricate lock in which was set a fine silver key.

"Do you intend simply to stand there?" Cologne inquired peevishly, her eyes flickering and her wrinkled face stern as her staff flicked out to tap her great-granddaughter lightly but painfully on her wounded arm. "We _do_ have work to do, child, before we open this morning. Come," she ended, rising to her feet and moving towards the kitchen.

Sighing, Shampoo made to follow her, then paused, her eyes drawn for a moment irresistibly to the scrolls and the little box, as a sudden new hope mixed with apprehension leapt in her.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, the old woman shook her head and smiled.

"Not this time, child," she said simply. "I think Son-in-law has had more than enough magic and potions to last him a lifetime. Apart from which," she added, "such subterfuge might not be the best means by which to regain his trust, given the circumstances; would you not agree?"

Shampoo nodded mutely, her momentary hopes dashed, even as her great-grandmother vanished into the adjoining room to an accompanying crash and exclamation of annoyance as Mousse, already in the kitchen, did or dropped something Shampoo could not see.

"Then what scrolls and box for, Great-grandmother?" The young amazon inquired, ignoring the din as she hurried in the elder woman's wake, now both curious and bewildered, and certain nothing would have been left where she could see without good reason.

But Cologne only shook her head.

"Later, child," she snapped in a tone that brooked no argument; "we have work to do."

And with that she turned quickly to the shelves and the spices.

Shampoo sighed again and shook her head. It would be useless to argue with her, and plainly she was not going to get any further explanation for the moment.

Shooting a quick dismissive glance towards Mousse who was just picking himself up after scrabbling furiously on the floor for his lost glasses, Shampoo stepped quickly passed him to her great-grandmother's side. It would not be long before the first customers would be arriving on their way to work, and she had yet to have her own breakfast and finish preparations for the first rush of the day.

Yet even as she moved about the kitchen, the image of the little curious box would not leave her, and she could not work in peace.

* * *

"Oh man I _really_ didn't need that today!" Ranma was stalking gloomily towards the lunch-room, his bento conspicuous by its absence. "And I didn't have a chance to make my own lunch this morning. If that macho chick really expects me to eat the stuff she calls food—."

He shuddered at the memory of the green, indefinable something that had looked like some particularly malignant cross between deformed, over-sized noodles and some ill-conceived, deep-sea abomination, that had seemed almost to leer up at him tauntingly, when he had opened his lunch-box that morning to dispose of and replace its contents, while Akane was looking for something in her room. He could still remember the feel of the thick, worm-like tentacles as they had curled around his hand.

"How does she do that?" he muttered to himself. "I swear sometimes she just dreams the stuff up, and there it is. She should get a job as a biologist. She could make new species all on her own, without having to go looking for them."

He sighed.

As he had expected, the morning's test had been a near disaster, although perhaps not quite as appalling as he had anticipated. There might still just be hope, were he to spend the next week in a study regime of which Mizuno Ami herself might be proud.

He laughed. Who was he kidding? If he passed at all, it would be a miracle, and Akane would be no help. It was not that she was not capable; Ranma had to admit that actually she would not be a bad tutor if she had more patience, and that she had a far better chance than himself of getting through their final exams. It was simply that she could not go two minutes without pointing out some inadequacy in anything ranging from his memory to his attention span, resulting in a protracted shouting match, and himself taking an impromptu flight for his trouble.

He shook his head, resigned gloomily to the prospect of extra study at his mother's arrangement to make up the marks he needed.

"Ranma? Oy! Ranma?"

At the call, Ranma jerked his thoughts back to the present in time to see Hiroshi and Daisuke waving in his direction through the usual push and shove.

He waved back, moving to make his way to join them.

Then in the next moment, the wall exploded in a shower of bricks almost beside him, and Ranma ducked, just in time to avoid a flying fist.

"Saotome!" a familiar voice roared as Ryoga leapt through the new entrance he had made. "At last I've found you!

"How dare you!" he continued, his voice more enraged with every word. "How dare you hide here while I've been looking everywhere for you, and how dare you betray Akane at her own wedding!"

Then a storm of bandannas had Ranma ducking and weaving wildly, as other students yelped and scattered in all directions.

"Damn it, Ryoga!" Ranma exclaimed with uncharacteristic anger, avoiding a follow-up round-house, while trying desperately to knock as many of the flying projectiles as possible aside before they hurt someone. "Wha'd'ya think you're doing! Didn't you learn anything the other day? You can't chuck those around in here!

"And yeah; of course I'd be tryin to hide at school, where I go every day," he added sarcastically. "And it was my weddin' too, bacon-breath, in case you'd forgotten!"

Ryoga leapt back, glaring furiously at the insult. But whatever he might have said was lost.

"Saotome; you accursed cur!" Came another cry, and Ranma glanced aside in resignation. A moment later, Kuno was leaping towards him, his usually spick kendo outfit slashed from neck to waist. "How dare you treat the blue thunder of Furinken with such malevolent disdain, and attack without honour or challenge. By all the gods you shall rue this day."

"Look; that was Ryoga, you idiot!" Ranma shouted in his turn, ducking a bokken-swing while lashing out with a fist that passed within a hair's breadth of catching the lost boy in the mouth.

"Silence, peasant!" Kuno raved. "Seek not to attempt to deceive the blue thunder, and cast aspersions upon another with thy accursed lies and calumnies."

"Yeah?" Ranma sneered, suddenly at the end of his patience. "Then what's that around your neck?"

Kuno reached up a hand, and extracted the black and yellow cloth that had lodged in the torn material that had once been his shirt.

"Then it is true!" he thundered. "The accursed Hibiki commoner has chosen yet again to ally himself with the treacherous sorcerer Saotome. No doubt you plan to divide your unholy lusts between my Tendo Akane, now that her heart has been shattered, and my beautiful Onna no Osage! Then Hibiki, prepare to meet thy doom."

"Who're you calling a commoner, you pervert!" Ryoga snarled in return, parrying a dozen swings with his umbrella before leaping back through the hole he had made, leading Kuno outside where he would have more room. "And she's not your Akane!" he ended in a scream.

Shaking his head, Ranma leapt to follow them, determined for once to see that they took this where no one else might be hurt in the cross-fire.

But as usual it was no good. Already, a considerable crowd was gathering, eager as always to see what was happening, if not so willing to become part of the spectacle.

"Stand and defend thyself! Coward! Infidel!" Kuno ranted, charging at the still retreating form.

Abruptly, Ryoga whipped about, and with one tremendous blow, brought his umbrella down on Kuno's swinging bokken. There was a crack, and Kuno found himself holding a considerably shortened piece of wood.

"Dog! Peasant!" Kuno blazed, seeming somehow even more deranged than usual, before a kick to the face from Ryoga ended the fight.

"Idiot!" the lost boy commented as he turned once more to face Ranma.

"Don't think that little distraction of yours has made me forget why I'm here!" he said furiously. "I demand an explanation."

"Wha!" Ranma gaped. "_My_ distraction! You must be an even bigger idiot than I thought, P-chan."

"And don't call me P-chan!" Ryoga screamed, rushing wildly at him.

"Look," Ranma told him as he leaped over the attack; "I'm happy to beat the stuffin' out'a you Ryoga; I'm just in the mood to work off a bit of steam after the last week. But I ain't doin' it here. I've had enough of people gettin' hurt because everyone else's too damn stupid to realise you don't go fightin' where their are innocent bystanders. So let's take this somewhere else; all right?"

Not waiting for a reply, Ranma leapt away, Ryoga following in his wake as he raced for the fence and the park beyond.

Behind them, a sudden scream of "Ranma! What are you doing? Stop picking on Ryoga, you baka!" made Ranma redouble his pace, as Akane came racing, her blue battle-aura blazing, mallet raised in fury.

Ignoring everything else, the crowd surged behind her, intent only on seeing the coming mayhem.

Alone at last, Kuno stirred feebly.

"That didn't hurt!" he muttered.

Then realising everyone had gone, he pulled himself abruptly to his feet.

"Curs! Dishonourable cowards!" he cried, and took off fiercely after them.

He reached the fight just as Ranma flipped end over end to avoid yet another storm of the seemingly endless supply of bandannas Ryoga apparently possessed.

At Kuno's outraged scream of: "How dare you flee my challenge; cravens of cravens!" both combatants glanced for a moment in his direction.

"Wait your turn!" Ryoga shouted, sending a fresh flurry hurtling at the upper-classman, even as he launched a fresh barrage of blows towards Ranma.

"Yeah!" Ranma added as he dodged Ryoga's attack and countered with a Kashuu Tenshin Amaguriken that had the lost boy back-peddalling furiously. "Can't you see we're busy?"

Kuno drew himself up, a fresh bokken already raised high, glaring in rage and righteous indignation as he prepared again to charge into the fray.

Then suddenly a piercing, terrified scream tore through the rising cheering of the Furinken crowd.

Taken utterly off-guard, Ranma and Ryoga pivoted away from one another in mid-attack, both whirling almost in perfect unison towards the park's further side and the street beyond, from where the sound had come.

"What—" Ryoga began.

Then a second scream shrilled from the direction of the street, and Ranma gestured urgently.

"There!" he shouted.

For a moment Ryoga stared in confusion. Then a green flash leapt out brilliantly for a moment, and there was a ground-shaking explosion.

"Come on!" Ranma cried, even as he leapt forwards. "I dunno what's goin' on, but we gotta get over there."

Nodding, the fight forgotten, Ryoga surged to run at his side, Kuno almost on their heels.

"Ranma!" came a furious exclamation from behind. "Ranma! Wait for me!"

A moment later, Akane was racing to join them.

Behind, the greater part of the crowd, displaying as always far more curiosity than sense, came pounding in their wake, calls and exclamations creating a bizarre counterpoint to the shouts and screams coming from the street.

Ranma and the others had almost reached the further side of the park when the first panicked flight came racing towards them from ahead, some veering off to left and right, others ploughing headlong into the following crowd of Furinken students in their haste to escape whatever was happening. A moment later the four martial artists pounded out into the street, and skidded to a halt, staring dumfounded at the scene that met their eyes.

Not fifty feet from where they stood, a car lay slewed across the road, its nose almost against a fence, its roof peeled back as though someone had taken to it with a gigantic tin-opener. Flames were leaping from the bonnet and the broken windows, and an acrid smell of burning filled the air.

But it was not the wreck that had caught their attention, but the creature that stood some ten paces closer to where they had halted. Nominally human in shape and quite plainly female, she was somewhat larger, and horribly sleek and scaled, as though someone had reshaped a python into the semblance of a human female form, complete with every curve. The limbs were long and uniform as a snake, with no hint of knee or elbow, and seemed to ripple and quiver as she stood. Set upon a long, serpent's neck, her head was horribly human, long, jet-black hair falling in a shadowy cascade to her shoulders. The face was young, and might even have been beautiful had it not been for the appalling look of unbridled malice, and the serpent's eyes, a horrible, uniform hell-red, that glared with rage and hate and a hungry lust for death as the creature swayed snake-like back and forth.

For a moment she remained shifting, glaring balefully this way and that. Then lifting both arms, she threw back her head, her mouth gaping impossibly wide, revealing a long, forked tongue and teeth like those of a crocodile.

"Come back," she screamed, her voice that of a woman, but with an additional, snarling undertone that made one think of nothing so much as a rabid, wild animal. "Scum! Coward! Craven, ill-born bitch! Return! Return, hunter, and face me!"

Then she whirled, searing green fire like corrupted ki leaping from her right hand to slam through the window of a second car, some hundred feet away. Immediately, the interior became a blazing inferno, a concussive blast shredding its roof like tin-foil, even as the creature whirled again in a flowing arc, preparing to loose yet another attack.

But abruptly, she froze, her head pivoting as her eyes fixed on something closer at hand.

Aghast, Ranma saw the small figure as she twisted wildly from the path of a fleeing, middle-aged man on a bicycle. Then a sleek, snake-like arm stretched out impossibly long, and in the next instant the little girl screamed a high, terror-stricken scream as she was snatched from the ground as though she weighed nothing and whirled high in the air.

"Face me, you filthy, ape-spawned bitch!" the snake-woman howled, whirling the screaming child in a wide, sweeping arc with terrifying speed. "Face me and die, or I will rip out this imp's throat and dash out her brains in the street!"

As though to prove her threat, the creature swept the little girl forwards, her face a sudden demonic smile of hungry anticipation as she brought her in close, sharp teeth lunging for her throat. Then Ranma felt the movement at his side, and in the next instant the snake-woman keened a high, piercing shriek of agony as the spinning bandanna ripped through the arm that pinned the child.

With a convulsive lurch the thing released the girl and staggered back, clutching wildly at her wounded arm, even as she spun to face the direction from which the attack had come.

"Ryoga!" Ranma shouted, sparing him a quick glance even as he started forwards. "Keep that thing distracted while I get the girl.

"Akane! Get those idiots out of the way before someone gets themselves killed!"

With that, he was racing towards the creature and the screaming child, aware peripherally of the storm of bandannas streaking passed him as Ryoga sped in a wide arc, trying to keep the snake-woman's attention fixed in his direction as she writhed back and forth with impossible agility to avoid the incoming projectiles.

Ranma reached the small figure of the girl and swept her from the ground. Then a rabid snarl almost at his ear had him leaping away just in time to avoid vicious snapping jaws as the creature's head darted down on its impossibly long neck. An instant later he was gone, racing back to the others, even as the writhing hell-thing screamed again as a second bandanna slashed a jagged, savage line across her face.

"Here!" said Ranma, pushing the half-stunned girl into a gaping Kuno's arms. "Make yourself useful, and get her out of here."

"Come on!" he said, turning to Ryoga, and ignoring Kuno's half-stupefied, half-furious glare in his direction at being effectively shunted aside. "We gotta take this thing down before anyone gets killed."

Nodding, Ryoga dived left as Ranma somersaulted right, their adversary screaming in rage as she tried to track the racing pair whilst avoiding the continual storm Ryoga was sending towards her.

Snarling, she raised a hand, her arm following Ranma's arc, green fire gathering in her long fingers. Then abruptly she twisted with staggering speed, her serpent's neck stretching an impossible distance as her head dived suddenly straight at Ryoga's face as he passed.

Stumbling, Ranma whirled, ki building in his hands with desperate speed, knowing with a sick certainty he would be too late. Then a hundred chains seemed to explode from nowhere, engulfing the snarling creature in an avalanche of whirling metal. In almost the same instant, a swarm of shuriken came screaming through the air from an entirely different direction, and the snake-woman screamed again, a piercing, ear-splitting scream of hate and agony as the tiny dart-like blades slashed her writhing form, seemingly in a hundred places.

"Now!" Mousse's voice shouted above the hell-thing's screams as he leapt down from a roof-top, even as Konatsu bounded into the street, the kunoichi's hands blurring as a second barrage flew. "Saotome! Hibiki! Strike now!"

Ranma nodded, the bright blue glow wreathing him even as he turned to catch Ryoga's glance as the lost boy built heavy ki for his own attack. Then both martial artists raised their hands.

"Mouko Takabisha!"

"Shi-shi Hokoudan!"

Writhing, spitting curses like oblivion, the snake-woman thrashed this way and that, her face twisted with malice and venomous hate as she fought against her bonds.

"Scum!" she screamed, her voice a keening shriek that hurt the ears. "Craven! Human hunter filth! Sending others to do your work, while you skulk and hide in the shadows! Ape! Muck-bred bitch! Face me and die!"

Then the combined attack crashed into her, and her screams became a tearing, nerve-shattering shriek of agonised torment, and a limitless desire to kill, her writhing body burning sun-bright, even as she strained with a last, hopeless hunger to escape.

With a rending, splintering explosion, the chains burst in a thousand pieces. But the snake-woman staggered, her blackened, shredded limbs convulsing wildly as she lurched and stumbled. Then she pitched forwards, collapsing to crouch in the crater the twin attacks had melted into the road, her ruined face twisted in murder and agony as she lifted her head to fix hate-filled, serpent's eyes on her tormentors who had gathered together, and stood now facing her.

For a space she remained, great, shuddering gasps tearing through her burned and broken body as she fought to breathe, while a black, glutinous ichor leaked slowly from her eyes and mouth. Then at last she stirred.

"You are mine!" the snarled words were low, laced with pain and hate and a venomous, hungry promise. "When I return, you are mine. None save a hunter can slay us, and you have not the power of her line. I will come again, and then you will scream!"

With that, she raised her shattered arms, her seared hands moving in a complex pattern, and her mouth speaking words they could not catch. For a moment a blackness seemed to grow and gather in the air before her, as though a hole were being opened in the world of midday into an abyss of deepest night. Then suddenly twisting, jagged colour burst into being at the heart of the portal, and Ranma gasped, a sudden, primal horror seizing him as the unnatural, impossible colour of his vision in the furo waxed and surged, and he could not look away.

For a moment, time seemed stilled as he stared, aghast. Then searing, white-hot agony struck him with the force of a tsunami, and he doubled over, unable even to cry out, aware dimly through his torment that Ryoga had collapsed beside him, and as though from some great distance, also of Akane, calling and calling his name.

With a shriek, the snake-woman reeled back, screaming a high, keening scream of sudden terror and agonised pain, her ruined arms beating the air before her, her mouth gaping wide in a rictus of leaping horror and numb incomprehension as the corrupted, impossible gate writhed and rippled, and her scream grew and grew until it passed the threshold of pain. Then the gate exploded outwards, engulfing her in a moment, her body turning instantly to leaping, searing fire, her last, shattered scream dying swiftly to a long, broken wail of ruin and despair as she burned away, that faltered, and failed, and was stilled.

The last flickering embers of her form disintegrated, vanishing swiftly in ash and smoke. Then with a hiss and crack, the ruins of the portal disappeared, something light and red as though of some bright fabric fluttering in its passing, to settle at last soft and unmoving at the very centre of the crater, and the battle.

With a groan Ranma staggered to his feet, for a moment too stunned with the aftermath of the pain and the nightmare memories to understand what was happening. Then Ryoga dragged himself upright beside him, and he turned to glance passed him to where Mousse was just beginning to stir.

"What…what just happened?" the Chinese martial artist groaned, accepting Ryoga's hand to help him stand.

Ranma shook his head, then turned at the sound of running feet. A moment later, Akane stumbled to a halt beside him.

"Ranma?" she gasped. "Ranma, What happened! Are you all right?" Then something else caught her attention, and she glanced aside. "What's that?"

Startled, Ranma followed her glance in time to catch a flash of bright colour as something small rose fluttering from the scene of the fight. For a moment it hovered, caught on some cross-wind, before it came sailing towards them to fall almost at his feet.

Perhaps almost the size of his splayed hand, it was a bright red, and looked as though it might have been torn from a dress or decorative kimono.

"What! Where?" he said, pushing away the last of the lingering horror as he gazed down at the fluttering cloth. "I don't… That thing wasn't wearing anything, and the little kid wasn't dressed in something like this."

Bending, his left hand reached out, his fingers snatching at the fabric just as a fresh gust was about to carry it away.

"No! Son-in-law!"

The shriek was so utterly unexpected that Ranma froze. Then the brightly-coloured scrap fluttered up about his hand, and white-hot, fiery agony exploded in its wake, surging through his arm and shoulder to engulf him again in searing, tearing pain.

With a strangled cry, Ranma leapt back, his arm flailing wildly as he tried frantically to shake free the clinging, burning stuff that seemed to have become melded like searing acid to his skin. Then something struck his hand with enough force to send fresh shards of agony exploding through his fingers, and the fabric was gone, the burning excess of the pain vanishing with it to be replaced by a dull, relentless ache in his hand and lower arm, that grew quickly to a sense of numbing, frozen cold.

"Haven't you learnt anything!" Cologne's voice was tight with anger and something that might well have been real anxiety as she reached out a gloved hand to snatch the fluttering cloth from the tip of her staff, and tuck it away securely beneath her robes. "Son-in-law, how could you have been so foolish as to touch such a thing without more care?"

Ranma turned to stare dumbly at the ancient Chinese Amazon for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to shake some warmth back into his aching hand.

"Hey, old ghoul!" he managed defensively at last, the look becoming a glare. "Don't blame me! How was I supposed to know something like that would happen?

"And what was that snake-thing, anyway?"

But Cologne shook her head.

"For once," she said uneasily, "I have no idea. The creature was some kind of demon, yet…"

At her words, Ranma's eyes flashed.

"That mad old pervert!" he snarled, his voice laced with uncharacteristic rage. "I'll bet that crazy pervert is behind this! When I get my hands on him, I swear, I'll take him apart! Innocent people could'a been killed, and I've had just about enough of idiots like him doin' crazy things like this just because they want to get at me, usually for somethin' Oyaji's done!"

He glared furiously about, as though expecting the ancient pervert in question to appear suddenly, ready for the pounding of his life.

Then a gnarled hand reached up to rest with surprising gentleness on his arm.

"I don't believe Happy was responsible for this, Son-in-law," said the ancient Amazon quietly. "There is something very much amiss with this situation. Why do you imagine I came with such urgent haste, when I first sensed the creature's presence? It was wrong…strange and unnatural in a way I have never felt before.

"Any demon entering the physical world leaves a trail; a gate is intrinsic to their mode of travel, and it cannot be disguised or hidden from one able to perceive such intrusions. Yet there was no gate, nor any indication of a means by which the creature entered our world. She was simply suddenly 'here', with no transit to sense, nor any path by which her origin could be traced.

"More; although undoubtedly inherently evil in nature, her aura was wrong: twisted and corrupted in a fashion I do not understand. I cannot describe it in any other way. And even were that not the case, it was not that of any demon kind I have encountered, and believe me I have encountered many. That is not in itself impossible; there are many variations, and even someone of my years and training need not have seen all that may be seen. But this difference was more…fundamental, as though she came of a plane utterly unlike anything ever yet encountered, whose very nature is intrinsically alien and incompatible, and whose kind have never before been seen.

"Then where?" Mousse began, only to be silenced by a glare and an imperious gesture from the elder.

"I have not finished," she said grimly, her eyes flashing a warning. "Alone, all this would be concern enough. But did none of you notice anything more: something inherently strange in your encounter?"

"Only that she hit us with some kinda attack, even after she was dying," said Ranma, shifting his arm with growing unease. The ache was not relenting, and the sense of frozen chill seemed to be creeping slowly higher, while his stomach had begun to churn uncomfortably. "I dunno what it was, but I'd rather not feel anything like it again."

Ryoga and Mousse nodded emphatically in agreement. Then suddenly Mousse's eyes widened.

"The curses!" he exclaimed. "I know it makes no sense, but could that last attack have had something somehow to do with our curses? Konatsu was standing almost beside me when the snake-woman did…whatever she did. Yet he was unaffected!"

"Well done, boy." said the matriarch, seeming genuinely pleased. "You've hit unsettlingly close to the mark.

"But," she added, her voice again suddenly tight with unease, "you are, I think, all making still one fundamental mistake. All of you are assuming that what happened to Ryoga, Mousse and Son-in-law was the result of some directed attack. The truth, however, may be a great deal more disturbing.

"I believe that the effect was entirely incidental, caused when the creature tried to build her gateway home using a form of magic altogether alien to the most basic precepts of such abilities as we understand they must exist.

"There are many forms of magic; I've seen many in my time. But like the Art, all magic must, by definition, be based upon fundamental principles, principles as immutable and unchanging as any other natural law that defines our world. Without those principles, any such power is uncontrollable.

"What your adversary tried to do to escape could not have worked. It is as though every assumption she made assumed fundamental magical precepts intrinsically incompatible and at odds with all we understand, and all we know must be. Yet it is inconceivable that a demon of her power could not have known: could not have understood what would happen. And yet somehow she made an impossible, unimaginable mistake. That is more concerning than any of you yet have begun to appreciate, and something about which I won't speculate further; not yet. But it was this difference: this basic incompatibility I think, that destroyed her, and that reacted with such violence with your curses, a conclusion reinforced it would seem by what happened to you, Son-in-law, when you touched that piece of cloth. You contacted something that should not, that _cannot_ be in our world, and the inherent magic of your curse fought the contact with primal negation."

"But that can't be right, Cologne-san!" Akane protested. "The attack also affected Ryoga, and he isn't cursed."

The martial artist in question squirmed uncomfortably, while Cologne shot the youngest Tendo an almost pitying glance.

"Additionally," she continued, as though Akane had not spoken, "did none of you think, during the fight, to pay attention to what the creature was screaming? She demanded again and again that the 'Hunter' return and face her, and seemed as shocked and bewildered as everyone else by her sudden situation, as though somehow she were brought here in the very midst of her confrontation, and against her own volition. Certainly you were not her intended targets.

"Lastly, as I said, there is this." Reaching the still-gloved hand beneath her robe, she drew out the piece of fabric once more.

"Look closely," she instructed, her glance fixed suddenly keenly upon Ranma. "Not simply with your sight. Can you sense nothing?"

Ranma obeyed, Akane, Mousse and Ryoga following his example, each with varying ability. Almost immediately the wrongness struck him, a twisting, nauseating feeling that seemed somehow to intensify the frozen ache in his arm.

"Something's… something's wrong with that thing!" he managed at last, averting his eyes, and swallowing down a sudden clenching lurch as he stepped a pace back. "I dunno what it is, but it's not right; like…like ki that's been all knotted and twisted, but somehow different; worse! Sorry, Old Ghoul, but would you mind puttin' that away?"

Nodding, Cologne tucked the fabric out of sight once more.

"Exactly," she said, her tone tight with an unnerving intensity. "Now you begin to see. I'm surprised only that you didn't think to examine the aura of your adversary.

"This cloth doesn't contain the sense of inherent evil and malice the demon possessed, but in the same indefinable, terrible way, it is amiss; wrong; somehow utterly alien, almost inimical to natural order as it should be. Furthermore, the fabric possesses a sense of life and being, as though it were an extension of something living and vital, rather than simply a scrap, torn from a piece of clothing.

"An exceptional martial artist or magician can imbue a valued tool or possession with their ki, to enhance its power or protection. Ryoga would be familiar with the idea," she gestured towards the black and yellow cloth bound about his head, and the lost Boy nodded, "and even the Kuno boy does so with that bokken with which he is so unaccountably fascinated.

"But this is so much more, as though this scrap were an extension of the very soul of its wearer. If I were to hazard a guess, I should say this belonged to your adversary's antagonist, torn from her in their battle, and that somehow it followed the demon to this world.

"But unfortunately," she said suddenly, her tone abruptly brisk as she turned for a moment to glance towards the park, "all further discussion must wait. As usual, it seems the Furinken population are displaying their typical disregard for basic common sense, and appear to be intent on ignoring Tendo Akane's advice. It would serve them right should another demon appear to frighten them into better regard for their own safety.

She cackled.

"Besides," she continued, "I have a restaurant to run, and Mousse some spices I expected nearly an hour ago, assuming of course he hasn't seen fit to lose them during his inspired entrance into the fight?" She shot him a look that promised dire consequences if she were proved correct.

"If you wish to know more of what I believe may have happened," she ended, "call the Nekohanten this evening. I may know more then, and we can arrange to discuss this further.

"But now, we all have other things to do."

And with that, she turned, and was gone.

"Old Ghoul!" Ranma muttered unhappily, glancing to each of the others in turn. "I'll bet she knows a lot more than she's telling."

But Mousse shook his head. "For once, Saotome, I don't believe so," he said uneasily.

Konatsu nodded. "I've not a great deal of experience with Elder Cologne," he said quietly, "but I felt she was being unusually candid, and I think we should accept any invitation she offers. I believe this is very important.

"But now, I too must go. Ukyou-sama has still not returned," he sighed and shook his head sadly, "and I must see her business doesn't suffer.

"Ryoga-san? If you would care to return with me, I can accompany you to the Nekohanten this evening if we are to go."

Ryoga nodded, as usual embarrassed concerning his eternally appalling sense of direction, but grateful for the offer.

A moment later Mousse had also taken his leave, and Ranma and Akane were alone.

"Are you all right, Ranma?" Akane demanded, as Ranma again flexed his left arm, unable to relieve the ache and increasing impression that his hand and arm were immersed in a bath of frigid, ice-cold water, no matter how he tried.

Ranma nodded silently, for once too preoccupied to answer.

"Come on then," she said, shooting him an uneasy glance before turning back towards the school. "I want at least some lunch-time before our next test this afternoon."

Ranma nodded again and moved to follow her. But his arm continued mercilessly to throb with a dull, frozen ache, and he shivered.

* * *

"Oh jeez; come on Akane!" Ranma sighed as he entered the kitchen.

The remainder of the school-day had been one of the worst he could remember. The second test had been every bit as bad as he had imagined, and throughout the afternoon his left arm had continued to ache with a relentless, frigid ice, while a slow lethargy and an increasing churning nausea had grown with every hour.

He had tried at first to dismiss the matter as simply the fact that he had had nothing to eat since breakfast. But the very thought of food had made his stomach twist in rebellion, and as the afternoon progressed and he felt no better, he had begun to realise that something was terribly wrong.

The school-day over at last, he had slipped away to walk home alone, a slow, unreasoning fear growing on him as the frozen ache and sick twisting nausea grew ever worse, and he tried to decide what he should do.

He had reached the Tendo-ke at last to be greeted by a furious Akane, demanding to know why he had not waited for her. Uncharacteristically short, he had snapped irritably that he had wanted some time alone to think, and stalked upstairs to his room, while Akane stared after him, her expression shifting between enraged, stunned and uneasy.

Settling on his futon, he had tried to rest. But the aching chill and the churning in his stomach would give him no peace, and at last he had given up and made his way again downstairs, to find a disaster in the making, appalling even by Akane's unique standards, awaiting him in the kitchen.

Ranma shook his head, his stomach clenching in sudden fierce negation as he stared hopelessly at the unrecognisable something that looked vaguely like a particularly nauseating cross between luminous green pea-soup and stewed worms and maggots, hissing and spitting on the stove. A thick, dark smoke with a horrible, greenish hue choked the air with a smell like burning tyres, while things he could not name floated here and there, and the occasional bubble rose lazily to disturb the surface of the thick, porridge-like mixture with a sullen 'blurp' that made him want suddenly, desperately to be sick.

Akane, her apron covered in some dark brown oily stuff, and her hair dusted with a fine soot that was the same colour as the smoke, was busy hammering away at the mixture with what looked to be one of her patented mallets.

"Listen, Ranma," Akane growled dangerously through clenched teeth, the ferocity of her hammering increasing as she glanced in his direction with a look that warned him that any negative comment would result in prolonged and extreme pain; "I'm not in a very good mood tonight. If you want to help, you can set the table. Otherwise, leave me alone."

Abruptly there was a loud, squelching bang, followed by a tearing crack, and the pot burst almost exactly down the middle, half the appalling stuff launching itself straight up into the exhaust fan, while the rest gushed in a searing, hissing torrent on to the stove.

"I don't need this, I _really_ don't need this," Ranma groaned as his fiancée turned on him.

"Baka!" she erupted, lighting up with fury, while a thick sluggy something slithered slowly down her shoulder to fall to the floor with a soft, liquid plop. "Now look what you made me do!"

A moment later, the mallet crashed down on Ranma's head.

"And get" ‹slam› "out of" ‹slam› "my" ‹slam› "kitchen!" she finished, driving him through the open doorway and into the floor.

Ranma twitched and stirred feebly. But the usual "kawaikunee" did not come, and a moment later, Akane realised that he was making no attempt to struggle to his feet.

"Ranma?" she inquired, a sudden unreasoning thrill of unease gripping her as still he did not move.

Dismissing the mallet, Akane dropped to her knees beside him, and reached to shake his shoulder. "Ranma! This isn't funny!"

A moment later she jerked back her hand in alarm. Ranma's left arm was icy to the touch, and reaching to catch his hand, she gasped in shock. It was as though his hand had been in a freezer.

"Ranma!" she demanded, now both frightened and angry. "Ranma, wake up!"

Slowly, Ranma stirred and opened his eyes. But it seemed to take a few moments for his gaze to track to her face, and abruptly Akane realised just how pale he was. Usually, no one looked more alive and vital. Yet now, it was as though something were bleaching the life and colour from his face and his blue-grey eyes, and especially his left hand and arm.

With seeming effort, he pushed himself up from the floor.

"Crazy, kawaikunee…" he said as he got slowly to his feet.

But the words had no life, and Akane felt the fear coil tighter as Ranma swayed for a moment where he stood, before he seemed to recover and steady himself.

"Ranma," she demanded, anger winning the battle with her growing alarm; "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well!"

"Look, it's nothin' Akane; all right?" he said, his tone again uncharacteristically short and irritable. "It's just an after-effect of touchin' that scrap of…whatever it was. I'll be fine after a lie down, assuming you stop tryin' to poison me, that is."

With a supreme effort, Akane fought down the almost overwhelming urge to give him the beating of his life for that, and shook her head.

"It's not all right, Ranma!" she answered angrily. "Your hand's like ice, and you look really sick. That's not like you; you're _never_ sick! _Never_!"

Ranma sighed, suddenly too tired and preoccupied to argue.

"Listen," he said, just wanting this finished, so he could go upstairs and lie down until whatever it was was over. "Just let me do this my way; all right? I do know somethin' about usin' ki to fix things like this. Just let me try, and if I don't feel any better in an hour or so, then you can call Tofu-sensei, or the Old Ghoul, or the Pervert, or whoever else you like. But I ain't in the mood to argue now, so just leave it till later."

With that, he turned, making again for the stairs.

For long seconds that seemed suddenly for ever, Akane stared after him. Something was wrong; she knew that suddenly with a certainty beyond anything she could name.

Yet she hesitated. Ranma was very highly trained; despite all his father had done, that at least could never be denied. Perhaps, if he really did know what he was doing, it _would_ be best to give him a chance to deal with this as he wanted. After all, surely an hour or two would not make any difference? Except, of course, that she would be worrying herself sick.

Sighing unhappily, Akane turned away and stepped back into the kitchen. Any idea of preparing a meal herself was out of the question; one had to be in the right mood for cooking, and she was too worried about her baka of a fiancé to think about that any more tonight. She would have a small something now to tide her over, and order take-away in an hour or so, when she was sure Ranma had fixed whatever was the matter with him.

"Ranma no baka!" she said softly, her tone tight with sudden mingled frustration and anxiety.

With another sigh she searched out a few dry biscuits and something to put on them. Then, moving into the sitting-room, she settled in front of the television, and tried to relax and forget her troubles for a while.

* * *

She woke to the sounds of gunfire, and Priss's scream of "SYLVIE!"

Shocked, Akane bolted upright from her slumped position on the couch, staring in alarm at the television for a moment, before she turned to glance at the little clock that stood on the crystal cabinet, and that had belonged to her mother's family. Not that there was any point. She knew very well that BGC was being repeated, at half past nine, as it was one of the few chances she had to sit in companionable quiet with Nabiki, and watch something both of them enjoyed.

She must have fallen into a sound sleep in the unusual peace of the house. And now it was almost half ten, and the hour she had agreed to give Ranma had become over four.

She leapt to her feet, half expecting and hoping that she would see him standing smirking in the doorway, ready with some clever remark at her expense. But he was not there, and as she stepped out into the passage, the unnatural quiet and stillness of the house hit her with a sudden overwhelming intensity.

Moving along the passage, she hurried upstairs, apprehension growing as she reached the room Ranma shared with his father.

"Ranma?" she called softly, tapping quietly at the door, uncharacteristically unwilling to disturb him, yet needing with a sudden urgency to know he was all right. "Ranma, are you awake? Sorry; I fell asleep. But I'm about to order take-away, so I thought I'd better find out what you wanted."

A chill silence greeted her.

"Ranma?" she tried again, her voice rising in unreasoning fear as she knocked with much greater force. "Ranma?"

But Ranma made no answer.

For a moment, Akane stood very still, irrationally terrified to open the door for fear of what she might find. But at last, common sense reasserted itself.

She was being ridiculous. Given the right circumstances, Ranma could sleep through just about anything, and like her, probably he had simply fallen asleep, unused to the quiet with everyone else away.

Pushing down the irrational unease, Akane swept the door open with sudden considerable force, and switched on the light, abruptly angry with him for making her worry for nothing.

"Ranma!" she cried, her steps quick and furious as she stamped across to the form sprawled out on the futon, "Ranma, wake up, you baka!"

But Ranma did not move or stir, and close now, Akane could see that he was curled in upon himself as though against some bitter cold, and that he was shivering.

Fear leaping again, she dropped down beside him, reaching once more for his left hand, that had slid from the edge of the futon, and lay upturned on the floor. To her horror, it was if anything even more icily frozen than before, and studying him closely, she was sure that the unnatural, terrifying pallor was far more pronounced. Even his hair seemed pale and lifeless, as though somehow he were fading before her eyes, becoming increasingly insubstantial: a cold, ghost-like wraith of himself.

Frightened suddenly beyond words, Akane remained crouching for some time in the still, terrible silence, clasping Ranma's ice-cold hand uselessly in her own, while her heart hammered savagely behind her ribcage, and she had no idea what to do. But at last she forced herself to try to think. Staying here like this was not going to achieve anything. She had to get help; she could not do anything on her own.

With a convulsive lurch, she let his hand fall and leapt with sudden urgency to her feet. Then she was flying from the room and down the stairs, nearly plunging headlong in her frantic haste to reach the phone.

Tofu's number rang and rang without answer. But to her overwhelming relief, Cologne answered the Nekohanten's line on the third ring.

Akane poured out an urgent explanation, while the ancient amazon listened in silence.

"Yes," she assured her when she had finished, her tone more alarmed, yet somehow at the same time more kindly than Akane had ever heard it. "I will be there as soon as I can. Fetch something with which to keep him warm, and do not leave his side. Also, try to wake him if you are able."

The next few minutes were some of the worst Akane had known, while she sat by Ranma's unmoving form and waited in growing terror for the Chinese matriarch's arrival. Every now and then she would try again to wake him, or elicit at least some response. But as before, he remained very still, only his shivering and his tight, uneven breathing assuring Akane that things were not worse even than her fear was suggesting.

She was brought back from her increasingly anxious vigil by the sudden sharp tapping at the window. Relieved beyond measure, Akane hurried to open it, and a moment later Cologne had hopped into the room and moved to squat by Ranma.

For long, tense moments while Akane waited, the ancient Amazon remained still, her eyes studying the unmoving martial artist intently, while her gnarled fingers probed his left arm and hand with careful skill. But at last she rose to her feet and shook her head.

"This is utterly beyond my experience," she said, her wrinkled face tight with anxiety. "Plainly Son-in-law's malady has been caused by contact with that piece of fabric. Yet I cannot even begin to speculate as to why it has affected him as it has, only that in some way the sickness is linked to the magic of his curse. In some indefinable fashion, it seems that the interaction between that and the unnatural, alien magic inherent in the cloth has proven inimical. But why, I cannot say.

"We are dealing here with the impossible, and I do not use that word lightly. As I said earlier today, like the demon who brought it, that fabric should not…_cannot_ exist in our world; Its very nature is alien and inimical to every natural law of magic as it must be. Yet it is here, and in some terrible, impossible way, it has corrupted or infected the Jusenkyo curse, and through it Ranma's ki and body, and indeed, perhaps every fundamental that defines his existence. If only he had been a little more circumspect, or I had arrived in time. He should never have touched that thing."

Aghast and horror-stricken, Akane stared at the ancient Amazon, numb with a leaping, terrible dread as she realised at last that this time, the matriarch had no answer; that she was as lost and helpless as herself.

"Then…then we can't do anything?" Her voice was suddenly very small in the cloying stillness, tears threatening as she recalled every pointless argument and stupid misunderstanding that had characterised the week since the disaster of their failed wedding.

Then to her surprise, a wrinkled hand laid gently on her own, ancient fingers tightening for a moment with a warmth Akane had never imagined the Chinese matriarch possessed.

"There _is_ something I might try," said Cologne quietly. "There is an ancient divining ritual, used once long ago, when it was custom for members of the Amazon tribe to travel secretly as guards for the emperor. After all, assassins tend always to underestimate a woman. It allowed us always to know where each traveller might be, and to contact her through a possession imbued with her ki, and left with us before her departure.

"But it has not been used for many hundreds of years. Nor do I know whether it will serve, or whether it might not be very dangerous to use it with something alien to the very nature of our world. Yet there is a chance that through it, I might reach the wearer of the fabric, and that that wearer may be able to help in a way I cannot."

"I know it is a slim chance," she agreed, seeing the helplessness in Akane's face. "But it is all the hope I can offer. What we are dealing with has perhaps never before been seen, yet it is just possible that our mysterious, other-world demon hunter has encountered such a thing, and can advise us on what can be done."

Numbly, Akane nodded, unable to speak through the sudden tightness in her throat.

"You should sleep here tonight," Cologne continued. "I have strengthened Son-in-law's ki as best I can, and he has placed himself into a healing sleep that may also do good. I had no idea he knew such a technique. That father of his never ceases to amaze me. With all his monumental incompetence and in-born stupidity, still somehow he has taught the boy with astounding skill and dedication."

She smiled.

"Stay here child," she ended kindly, "and sleep if you can. I will return as quickly as I may. Good night."

And with that, she leapt to the window, and vanished swiftly into the night.

* * *

The Nekohanten was dark and still as the ancient matriarch slipped soundlessly inside, locking the door quietly behind her. Both Shampoo and Mousse were long asleep, and Cologne moved silently, carrying only a single candle to find what she needed.

Soon she sat cross-legged in the quiet stillness of the restaurant, a fine copper tripod set on the floor before her, supporting a delicate ceramic censer in which a sweet-smelling incense burnt with a gentle glow. A fine dusting of a soft, blue powder lay about the tripod in a sealing circle, whilst Beneath the stand she had set the fabric she had taken, the decorative cloth seeming impossibly innocuous as she settled more comfortably in her place, and unrolled an ancient, worn scroll.

For many seconds she remained, her eyes scanning the old symbols as she confirmed one last time what she must do. Then nodding to herself, she set the scroll aside, and shifting her position a little, she fixed her eyes on the flickering glow and the gentle curl of smoke. For a long moment she was still. Then softly, she began to chant, the words of an ancient mode no longer remembered, save by the elders of her tribe, and perhaps those of the Musk.

Almost immediately, the smoke swirled, shifting softly in the stillness. Then, slowly, images began to form, fleeting and ill-defined as though seen through a thick, cloying fog from very far away, and words came to her also, fading and returning as from some almost infinite distance of time and memory.

Yet through the fleeting glimpses and the broken, whispering echoes, the twisting, soul-deep wrongness and sense of something alien and strange, and somehow inimical to the world and everything in it grew and grew, until as the ancient Amazon's chant reached its peak and she prepared to raise her gnarled hands in invocation, the feeling leapt suddenly to an appalling, savage horror and certainty of imminent, terrible danger.

Suddenly more afraid than she had been for years uncounted, Cologne changed the words, her hands moving urgently in a complex pattern as she began the closing and banishing of the ritual. But the numb, terrible fear surged higher, and she knew with a sickening certainty that it was too late, and that she had made an appalling, incalculable mistake.

For a moment more the smoke swirled, the fractured images and broken words a surreal, horrible complement to her rising dread. Then, as she had seen in the ruined gate of the demon, jagged, hideous colour leapt out suddenly stark and twisted, and the universe cracked and opened.

For one moment Cologne stared aghast into a soaring, vast oblivion more ruinous and more terrible than she could begin to comprehend. For one instant she glimpsed thrones of ruin, and powers of madness, and things of horror vast and ancient beyond the beginning of time, for which there was no name. For one timeless space that was eternity, she looked beyond the last walls of creation, and saw dread and torment, and damnation beyond the last end of a broken, gibbering despair.

Then, even as she teetered, poised upon the very brink of a shattered, splintering madness from which there could be no return, a flash like lightning leapt up, bathing the restaurant for a split second in a stark, brilliant radiance. In the next instant a cataclysmic roar and crash shook the Nekohanten to its foundations.

Stunned, barely aware of what was happening, Cologne pitched backwards, staring dumbly as a slender, female form was hurtled from the heart of the explosion, tumbling headlong from the maelstrom to sprawl limp and unmoving amongst the shattered remains of a table. For a moment through a growing ice and confusion, she was almost certain that as the figure slid to a stop, the bright cloth fluttered of its own accord to fall softly at her side, merging seamlessly with the dress she wore. But the world was spinning and falling away from her, and the last thing of which the ancient Amazon was aware was a faint, terror-stricken scream, and Shampoo, calling her, again and again.

Then the blackness closed about her, and she knew no more.

* * *

It was deep night when Ranma woke, starting horribly from some cloying nightmare of ice and pain, and a lurking fear he could not remember, to stark silence and a bone-numbing cold worse than anything he had known.

For a long time he lay still, a slow, nameless dread growing on him as he fought his shaking and the clenching, twisting nausea that washed over him in wave after wave. His left arm and shoulder burned with a searing, poisoned ice, while the numb, bone-deep chill seemed to have spread throughout his body, sapping the scant warmth beneath the blankets as though he were lying in frigid water.

"This ain't good! This really ain't good!" he muttered to himself again and again. (I got'a do something; I can't just lie here like this."

Yet for minutes he remained where he was, not daring to move, until at last by sheer force of will he fought down the rising panic, and wrenched himself convulsively into a sitting position. But the room spun horribly, and it was several seconds before he could focus on anything but the giddiness that threatened to make him pass out at any moment.

It was a soft sound that brought his attention back to his surroundings. For a moment in the sickness and the surreal horror of his situation, he imagined that the last week had been some strange fever-dream, and that his father was there as always in his usual place beside him. But the breathing was soft, and coming from a little distance, and the place at his side was empty.

Carefully, Ranma turned his head, his gaze tracking slowly to the chair by the open door. Akane sat slumped, wrapped in a blanket, her head half turned, her face tight with concern even in sleep. A book lay open in her lap, but her hands were clenched on the arms of the chair, and Ranma doubted she had touched it.

For a moment, a sudden intensity of gratitude tightened his throat, together with the almost overwhelming need to wake her: to escape being alone in the horror of the silence and the cloying fear.

But disturbing and frightening her would not help, and there was nothing she could do, save perhaps to panic and make things even worse by insisting she do something crazy and dangerous, such as calling an ambulance. Ranma knew that would do no good: that if anything was to be done, he would have to do it, or find someone who could. And there were only two people who might be able to help. Well, maybe three, but even if he were prepared to risk whatever aid he could give, he had no way to contact the old pervert, just like that.

Clenching himself against the sickness, Ranma struggled from his futon, and pushed himself slowly to his feet. He would try Tofu-sensei first, then the Old Ghoul.

For several seconds he swayed, his legs threatening to give out at any moment. But at last he crept slowly to the door, moving as silently as he could. As though sensing him, Akane stirred and murmured in her sleep. But she did not wake, and at last Ranma slipped from the room and along the passage. He would get himself a drink of water before he rang, to steady himself and to try to hold back the giddiness and nausea.

Reaching the stairs, he hesitated. But standing there was not going to help, and at last he moved forwards, humiliated and furious with himself for the need to clutch to the banister like some ancient cripple, but not fool enough to risk a fall. His heart labouring, feeling worse with every moment, Ranma reached the bathroom at last and stumbled, almost losing the battle for a moment while he clutched convulsively to the door, before he staggered inside and across to the basin.

Stilling the violent shaking as best he could, he raised his head, staring for a moment in confusion at his own reflection in the mirror, before he remembered why he was there, and slumped to his knees, leaning forwards as he turned on the tap, pushing his head towards the cool, reviving water.

Akane was awakened from a dead, dark nothingness by his first, agonised scream.

Heart suddenly racing, she leapt up, staring wildly about the room, for a moment with no idea what had woken her. She had one frozen instant to realise Ranma was no longer in his futon. Then the next rending, pain-racked scream tore through the house, and Akane was moving, the door kicked savagely aside as she sped from the room and along the passage.

She nearly broke her neck as the stairs dropped away from her, somersaulting twice before she hit the ground floor, still running. She reached the bathroom just as a third scream tore into the night. Then she was slamming the door aside, the rebounding edge catching her a savage crack in the forehead before she smashed it viciously out of her way and burst into the room.

Akane skidded to a halt, staring in numb, nightmare horror at what she saw. The door to the furo was ajar, the sound of running water a surreal, horrible counterpoint to the scene. Ranma was crouched by the bath, blood streaming from his skin like perspiration, his head half turned towards her, his face a rictus of agony as his body rippled and twisted, seeming to melt and flow like some horrible molten glass.

For a moment, sickened and terrified beyond endurance, Akane could do nothing but stare stupidly, utterly unable to move or react. Then, screaming his name, she lunged towards him, with no notion of what possibly she might do, knowing only that she had to do something: that she had somehow to stop what was happening.

It seemed that he heard: that even through his pain and his torment he knew she was there. For a second his head lifted, his agonised face turning fully to her, his mouth working as though trying to shape words he knew no longer how to speak. Then Akane's hands touched the place that should have been Ranma, and her world became fire and pain, and a nightmare ruin beyond anything she could hope to understand.

Her mouth gaped wide as she drew breath to scream. But the world tumbled away from her, and she was falling, down, down into a vast, soaring oblivion, fleeting, horrible visions and jagged, savage colour for which she had no name dancing like torment incarnate across her mind, before the blackness came to claim her. And she fell swiftly into the nothingness. And it swallowed all that she was, and all she might have been.

She heard and saw no more.

** ** **

Notes:

** ** **

First chapter, and one of the three that kept this revision back for years. The original was a joke, but something I simply could never find the motivation to tackle until a few weeks ago, even though I've known for nearly ten years pretty much exactly how it needed to be changed.

I've only two real concerns.

First, the description of the dress fragment needs to be improved. I'd like to include something that gives the reader a hint as to its origin, without just giving the game away at the beginning (I imagine most have worked it out anyway, but I won't say more to spoil it for anybody who hasn't), so I'd be interested in any suggestions.

The second problem is the chapter's somewhat introspective nature in some passages, something that characterises the first few chapters. But better I think to get all the personal angst and guff out of the way early on, rather than put up with it later.

Still, overall, I think this has been improved beyond all recognition, and sets DC's generally dark, oppressive tone at last as it should.

** ** **

* * *

** ** **

Foreword V1.05:

** ** **

Well, it's been many years since DC's initial release to RAAC in late 1997: longer still since its first appearance on the FFML in May '96, and a great many things have happened since its original genesis.

As I said all those years ago, this thing was my first attempt at fanfiction, although most certainly far from my first writing project, and perhaps some things need a little explanation.

The first faint glimmerings for what was then Dark Chronicles began with a discussion between a friend (Iaen) and myself, concerning why no one had tried ever to cross BubbleGum Crisis and Dirty Pair, something that to us simply screamed out to be done. At the time, the idea came to nothing, as Iaen was interested in reading rather than writing, and I had much else to do.

Still, the idea would not go away, and I began to wonder whether it might not be possible to include those together with several other Anime/Manga universes which had also particularly appealed to me, in a fantasy-centred fanfic, tremendously more serious and very much darker than anything that had yet been attempted. I had no idea how the story might progress when I penned the first tiny fragment that has remained the opening to the first chapter, only that I had begun something I wished to see to its completion.

Unfortunately, although a promising premiss, the original idea foundered swiftly in a mire of increasingly intractable problems, and although I continued infrequently when in the mood to correct and improve my own archived copy, Dark Chronicles would have been consigned to the past and left at that, had not an idea I submitted in mid '99 almost on the spur of the moment, been accepted as part of the Sailor Moon Expanded multiverse. With that project and all it precipitated, DC gained an entirely new lease of life.

Still, that rekindled enthusiasm has been tempered very much by myriad events over the past ten years, added to the fact that I've original work to consider, which must by definition take priority. Furthermore, large cross-overs are vastly more prevalent nowadays than they were in mid '96, and many concepts and ideas that seemed then unique, are now a good deal more hackneyed. Nevertheless, I am not ready yet completely to abandon what seems to me worthy still of one last attempt, nor in all conscience can I do so without abandoning also my Sailor Moon Expanded project, something I refuse yet to do.

Although very much revised and a far darker tale even than the original, the basic premiss has not changed, but has I think been improved beyond all recognition by tremendously greater care, knowledge and attention to detail, not to mention the inclusion also of the Slayers world, which has added a scope and depth to the story that would otherwise have been impossible. Still, we shall see.

In order of initial appearance, the included Anime shall be Ranma ½, Mamono Hunter Yohko, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon and its DIC alternative, Bubblegum Crisis, Project A-ko, Dirty Pair, Slayers and Ah Megami-sama. Classic Dr. Who (so far as I am concerned, the new abomination does not exist), Blake's Seven, Sapphire and Steel, The Chronicles of Narnia, and various other universes will at times appear also, but not until very much later, and certainly not in Part I. The story will include also several characters of my own creation, none of whom are self-insertion avatars, and at least two of whom are far from the typical archetypes.

However, fair warning now: for those looking for something warm and friendly, do not go further. The basis for this will not be comic or kindly, not in any sense of the word. That is not to say that the tale will be unremittingly oppressive, or that it won't include lighter moments. But the story itself will be deadly serious, and most definitely not for those seeking lighthearted adventure, or who do not wish to see their favourite characters put through an omniverse of slowly gathering darkness and growing, ruinous horror and evil.

I should say here also for those who flinch at the very mention of original characters (something I confess I tend to do), you may care still to give DC a chance. The full complement of characters for all included universes will play in their way each a pivotal role, and although as important as the rest for the unique abilities they possess, my original creations most definitely will not copy or replace canonical abilities, nor will they be of greater power or import than the characters canonical to each reality; this definitely is not fantasy fulfilment or self insertion by proxy.

Well, now that that's out of the way, just three things.

1) First and foremost, for anyone who read the old Dark Chronicles from so many years ago: forget everything; Darkness Chronicles is a tremendously expanded endeavour, and bears only a superficial resemblance to the original.

2) These are alternative universes in the sense that all diverge from established canon in the moment this tale begins. for the most part, the divergence begins after the final Anime/Manga story and so will not affect established pre-DC canon, with the following caveats:

Ranma ½:  
As it seems impossible to establish a consistent chronology, I've placed the final trip to China and the failed wedding almost at the end of the school year. Further, as there is so much divergence between Manga and Anime continuity, it should be assumed that Manga events take priority, with Anime additions only where the two do not conflict. If anybody can direct me to a consistent, rationalised Ranma continuity, it would be a tremendous help. However, I suspect that any attempt to reconcile Manga and Anime continuity, or to date important events during either, is impossible.

Sailor Moon (DIC):  
This should be imagined to have continued to the last Sailor Stars episode with no CWI influence, and with the changes that might have been expected had DIC produced the rest of SMR, SMS, SMSS and SS in accordance with the interpretation of SM canon suggested at the time of DC's original genesis. To this end, the Outer Scouts possess the names then believed to be most likely: Hotaru = Christin (which I prefer to Christine), Haruka = Alex, Michiru = Michelle, Setsuna = Susan. Further, Alex and Michelle are cousins, and although very close, their relationship is entirely platonic, as might have been expected for a programme reinterpreted specifically for children.

BubbleGum Crisis:  
The events of BGCrash never happen, due to a cardinal pre-Crisis divergence central to this BGC continuity, and most definitely the 2040 alternative universe will play no part.

Dirty Pair:  
The DP reality of DC will be an amalgamation of all three canonical DP universes. Shasti and her history are canonical also in this world, although probably nothing more will exist of Adam Warren's alternative.

Project: A-ko:  
The Blue/Grey alternative universe will not appear.

Dr. Who:  
This should be imagined as the Classic BBC continuity with the additions of the Big Finish Productions audio dramas, but entirely uncontaminated by the appalling, imbecilic travesty that is the new television series.

Blakes 7:  
The BBC radio dramas did not occur, or were dreams of a member of the crew; whichever proves most useful.

3) Finally, it is important to understand that, unlike what appear to be the majority of cross-overs, each Darkness Chronicles' universe is entirely unrelated before their initial contact. They are entirely self-contained, with no possibility of connection, and if known in others at all, they are as fictional to the rest as to our own, each being Manga/Anime/fictional to each of the others as defined by their particular circumstances. As an example, the Slayers universe is known as Anime/Manga in all other included continuities, but, of course, the reverse cannot be the case.

Well, that's it for the moment. Enjoy (I hope).

Craig (14th of February, 2009)

** ** **

Acknowledgements.

** ** **

The original Dark Chronicles included a large list of people who provided both help and inspiration (whether large or small), without which the tale would not have been possible. Unfortunately, the days when one could acknowledge publicly a helpful or inspirational contact by means of E-mail address are long gone. Such public thanks is likely to see them rewarded nowadays by receiving an avalanche of unsolicited, inconsequential drivel from some congenital imbecile with nothing better to do with their time than to ensure a thousand other lives are made as pointless and meaningless as their own. Also, over the years the list has grown large, and I imagine will grow larger still, and it has become simply impractical to acknowledge everyone who deserves thanks. Nevertheless, at least some attempt should be made.

First and foremost, I should thank the creators of the anime/Manga themselves: if they'd not invented any of this, I'd never have known about it, and of course this simply wouldn't exist.

Next, Iaen, who, soon after we started talking by phone on a regular basis in the mid '90s (he lives some considerable distance from here), happened to mention one day in passing that he'd found this net FTP site that specialised in Anime fanfiction, and asked whether I knew what this Anime was all about, as the stories he'd read weren't half bad. I'd already read bits of Undocumented Features that had been posted to the prose Usenet NGs at the time, and was curious. I took a look, and neither of us have since looked back.

As for my introduction to the included universes themselves: i'm perhaps in something of a curious position, in that it was some excellent fanfiction that led me to each Anime, rather than the reverse. For this reason, many additional thanks go to the UF crew for both an fine series in its own right, and for introducing me to DP, Darren Stefler for doing likewise (more or less) to Ranma and BGC, David Outram a.k.a. Kent Magami, without whose excellent Project S-boy / Tales Of Graviton City, I may never have discovered the superb Project: A-ko and Stephen Gagne for the unparalleled Slayers Reflect trilogy, Demiurge, and Starboard (the abandoning of which I consider still a tragedy).

Regarding the old Dark Chronicles itself, I must thank Iaen for giving me a hand with the initial fine-tuning of many an early BGC idea, and Kent (probably i'll always think of him by that name :) ), without whose invaluable help and suggestions regarding both the A-koverse and DC itself, and the hundreds of K of e-mail we once exchanged (not to mention his allowing me to use the name he came up with in his tales for A-ko's father), I may never have continued the story passed the original chapter 2.

Lastly, I should thank the Sailor Moon Expanded crew, both for accepting my application to write in what is one of the most consistent and superbly constructed multiverses in the short history of Anime fanfiction, and for their invaluable help and suggestions in fine-tuning the omniversal composite characters who began their existence in my own creation, and which has helped reshape their progenitors. In particular, many thanks go to Sam Ashley for the ideas that helped crystallise DC's original primitive evil into the Anti-real, Qliphothic Oblivion, and its inimical, ruinous queen. Without SME and all that its influence has precipitated, this revision would not have happened, and DC would have been consigned to an ignominious end.

For those few who remember my SME Earth-Beta tale Thy Will be Done, it is undergoing also a major revision to become the first book in Exiles Chronicles, with much extraneous material removed to side-stories. Certainly, it has not yet been abandoned.

** ** **

Disclaimers and Copyrights:

** ** **

Original Copyrights:

* * *

This work is copyright, and permission to distribute it on a non-profit basis is given hereby, so long as nothing has been tampered with (save of course for changes deemed necessary for acceptable presentation), and it is distributed in its entirety. No unauthorised copying, broadcasting, public performance, or appropriation of characters and concepts, in full or in part, is permitted, without written permission from me first. This work may _not_ be distributed for profit, or in or with a for-profit publication, without written permission from myself.

Johnathan Liam O'Reilly, Joanna Marina O'Reilly, Marina Alexeievna Zhuranovskya, Liana, Camilla, Ligeia, Lenore, Rhiannon, Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky, his Genom team, the DA-series buma concept, Fellini, the Dark Kingdom and Negaverse crew etc., and all other original characters, are Copyright 1996-2009 © by me. Unlike many fanfic creations, some of these characters appear in slightly altered form in original work intended for publication, and thus are protected under international copyright law.

The diminutive DA attack buma concept is Copyright 1996-2009 © by myself and Iaen Cordell.

The Magna-class buma concept is Copyright 1996-2009 © by Iaen Cordell.

Everything else not native to the canon of an included universe is Copyright 1996-2009 © by me, unless someone suggests ideas to me that I like, and they're willing to let me use. In that case, the ideas remain theirs unless they tell me otherwise, so you'll have to ask them if you can use them. ^_^ A case in point is C-koH, a version of whom will appear at some point, and the name Kent Magami for A-ko's father. Both are Copyright 1996-1998 © by David Outram a.k.a. Kent Magami, and C-koH at least probably will pay you a visit to express her creator's extreme displeasure should you use her without his consent. :-)

* * *

Other Copyrights:

* * *

Ah Megami-sama (Ah (Oh) My Goddess) is Copyright 1996 © Fujishima Kosuke.

BubbleGum Crisis & Crash & ADP Files are Copyright © Artmic / Youmex / Suzuki Toshimichi, Sonoda Kenichi, Gooda Hiroaki and Urushibara Satoshi.

Dirty Pair is Copyright © Takachiho Haruka / Sunrise / Adam Warren.

Mamono (Devil) Hunter Yohko is Copyright 1990-1996 © Mauyama Masao, Japan Computer Systems / Toho, Inc.

Project A-ko is Copyright © Soeishinsha / Final-Nishijima / Central Park Media.

Ranma ½ is Copyright 1996 © Takahashi Rumiko / Shogakukan Inc. / Kitty / Fuji TV / Viz Video.

Sailor Moon is Copyright 1996 © Takeuchi Naoko / Kodansha / Toei Animation / DIC / CWI.

The Chronicles of Narnia epic is Copyright 1951-2009 © by C. S. Lewis.

Dr. Who is Copyright 1963-2009 © the British Broadcasting Corporation – Big Finish Productions.

Blake's Seven is Copyright 1977-2009 © the British Broadcasting Corporation.

Sapphire and Steel is Copyright 1980-2009 © the British Broadcasting Corporation – Big Finish Productions.

** ** **

* * *


	2. Book I: Part I: Chapter II

As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

Disclaimer:

Own only original stuff; not doing this for profit; suing would be pointless.

* * *

The little bitch would die! She had decided that, the moment she had found Crystal, broken and beaten in the alley behind the arcade.

From where she had knelt beside her, she could still hear the faint sounds of cheering and laughter as Liam and Anna hammered it out against C-55s and BU-12Bs on two BGC-Knights, while Sonya and Angela screamed insults at one another with as little real animosity as usual, and the others milled about, waiting for other games to be free, and all keeping an eye out for one another. It was useless to try overtly to watch their leader's back — she was as likely to flatten anyone who suggested she couldn't cope with anything that came her way, especially now.

Crystal's helpless whimpering had stopped as she had reached a hand to her shoulder, then the blue eyes had opened to look up at her. For a moment they had regarded one another, her own emerald gaze frigid with the promise of revenge. Then she was on her feet, flying back towards the arcade, screaming for the others.

That had been a mere ten minutes ago.

She had not waited for the ambulance: she could not afford to wait. She had headed straight for Fagen's, hoping to reach the drug-hole before they realised the mistake they'd made in pushing her this far, and went to ground for the duration.

She had been lucky. Gema and her little party of thugs were still there, probably waiting for Harrison to call to let them know what she and the others were doing, after he had finished with Crystal. She had found that idea amusing. Harrison would never talk again. Rianna, and Michael should be just about finished with him by now; just about.

It had been easy. All she needed to do was to remember little, fiery Crystal's helpless broken form, and that she was dealing with drug-trafficking, gutter-licking filth, and she didn't have to hold anything back.

She had smashed the first of the hired help (a Korean, she noted fleetingly) into the brick-work of the club's entrance with such force that the impact had shattered his spine like kindling. Kicking the semi-automatic from the hand of a huge jamaican with a snap that smashed his wrist to pulp, she leapt, flipped and landed, slamming the Maori who was still in the act of turning to help him, bodily through the plate-glass door, flicking out the tiny stiletto even as she followed, driving the fine dart-like blade to the hilt through his spinal chord just below the neck before twisting it free, and diving over him, already running before his body had tumbled to a stop. She was through the club and out into the darker passages behind, almost before the panic had begun. Then there was the dimly lit stairway, and the voices from the room at the smaller passage's further end.

Racing for the closed door, she had slammed it open, leapt through, and hurled the blade into the throat of the first of Gema's personal guard, even as he looked up in stunned surprise, turning only to smash the other over a table and through the window on the room's further side to plunge screaming to the alley below, before she was beside Gema, another blade already at her throat.

"Lock the door," she snarled softly.

The little bitch ducked, trying desperately to twist towards her, a knife in her hand. Dropping her own blade, she slammed her to the table and slapped the knife to the further side of the room. Something cracked, and Gema screamed. She ignored her, pivoting to the door in time to flick her last blade through the left eye of the gunman in the doorway.

"You should have used that, you know," she commented conversationally, as she retrieved his weapon and the tiny knife, pitched the dying body from the room, and slammed and locked the door.

"Now then, where were we?" she inquired almost pleasantly, moving to Gema's groaning form, pausing to retrieve her other blades and re-sheathe them, before dragging the dealer-hit-girl up by her hair. "Oh yes; I was about to slit your throat."

There was a crash at the door, then another, and a moment later it burst inwards. She smiled as three blades flew, and three men screamed and fell. Then the fourth entered with a pistol in his hand.

"Put that down," he snarled quietly, jerking a finger at the last blade she held to Gema's throat.

"We'll go together, your little pay-mistress and I," she said calmly, her eyes never leaving his face, her own expression utterly devoid of fear.

"If that's how you want it. Doesn't matter to—"

The knife opened his neck before he had finished, embedding itself in the door-jam behind him. He screamed, a thin gurgling sound, even as she whirled, pausing only to crack Gema's neck with a quick twist of her hand.

Flipping over the table, she landed, snatched her blades from the three dead bodies and the door-jam, then spinning she leaped for the shattered window.

"Jesus! Fr***in' bitsh," Came a gurgling, horror-stricken slur from behind her.

In the midst of her leap, she half turned, the stolen semi-automatic already up and firing, in time to see the man, blood pulsing between his fingers as he clutched uselessly at his neck, stagger up, the pistol still in his hand. Her feet hit the sill, and she hurled herself forwards, somersaulting towards the alley below. Then there was a crack from behind, and her world exploded in a brilliant, fiery red, even as she plunged towards, then through the street, to fall, choking back a scream of shock, into the oblivion beyond.

** ** **

Darkness Chronicles  
An anime-Manga Cross-over

** ** **

Book I:  
Part I: The Gathering  
Chapter II:

** ** **

When he was a boy, Johnathan Liam O'Reilly had loved the journeys home late at night, after another visit to one of his seemingly innumerable relations. Curled up snug and warm under a travelling-rug on the back seat of the family Rolls Royce, he would lie still, eyes almost closed, listening to the soothing rumble of the tyres on the road beneath them and the gentle purr of the big engine, and drift in a half-dream, watching the patterns that danced upon the very edge of sleep, half-aware of his parents' quiet talk, and imagining the never-quite-defined brother or sister he had always wanted to be settled at his side, or waiting in the huge, too-empty house for his return. They would hurry to bed without complaint, but after the light had been turned out, they could stay awake far into the night, and talk of Middle-Earth or the land of Narnia, or some Blytonesque mystery or adventure; and perhaps one day they might even find some hidden way that led still to Loth Lorien or the Shire or the hidden valley of Rivendell, or perhaps a secret door into the world of Aslan, and to the fair castle of Kair Paravel, or the magnificent, terrible city of Tashbaan. The days would drift by in endless contentment, and nothing could break their friendship, or destroy their happiness.

He would wake a little as the big car drew into the long, tree-shrouded driveway, stirring still more as he was lifted, still more than half asleep, to be carried into the quiet, echoing house and up the wide, curving stairway to his huge yet cluttered attic domain, a domain that should have been the nursery for a large and merry family of children. Then alone in the dark he would lie awake, listening to the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall (one of four the house possessed), and pray silently and with almost desperate fervour to the Lord and the holy Virgin, that a brother or sister might somehow be there when he awoke the following morning, or that at least there might be some new boy or girl at school with whom he could share dreams no one but uncle Rory seemed to understand, and for which the other children laughed at him, and called him mad Paddy, or threw things, and stepped on his school-bag and took his lunch when he was not able to stop them.

How he had hated them then, not simply for their teasing, but for the fact that they would not even try to understand him, and that they liked all that stupid screaming thrash and rap and other noise, and Star Trek and Star Wars and other stupid, rotten American stuff. And it was all such utter rubbish that no one but an idiot could possibly like it; and they were all just too stupid to understand anything, and sometimes he wished desperately that a Black Rider would simply appear to carry the whole rotten lot of them off to some black pit from which none of them would ever come back.

Things would be different, uncle Rory had tried to reassure him, when he began at thirteen in his new school. But then his uncle and his parents had had a "falling out" as his mother put it, and Rory O'Reilly had gone back to Ireland, and for years Johnathan had thought his uncle had forgotten him. It was only very recently that he had learnt what had happened: that the quarrel had concerned both his uncle's decision to re-marry at last after the tragic death of his first wife (and his brother's wife's elder sister) when Johnathan was still very young, and what Rory O'Reilly considered Michael's and Elizabeth's neglect of their son. Even worse to Johnathan's mind was the fact that he had discovered his parents had refused to allow him to receive any correspondence from the man his mother, at least, still would not forgive.

With his uncle gone, things had seemed simply to go from bad to worse. Johnathan had always been small for his age, and at thirteen he had discovered he needed glasses, and that, contrary to his father's assurances, his growth seemed to be slowing rather than hitting the spurt for which he had been waiting for what seemed to him as long as he could remember.

He found friends of a sort at his new school: some few introverted, book-bound boys who would at least talk to him. But they had interests other than his own, and, being an only child, and forced more often than not to play alone, he was no longer capable of any real compromise. Any quarrel (and usually it would come down to some music other than the Irish and Celtic influences he most loved, or their caring nothing for classical history and the epic tales that had become ever more his escape from a world he had begun to despise with increasing intensity, or worst, comments concerning his own physical ineptitude at sports, and hopeless inability to defend himself in a fight) would end almost inevitably with Johnathan exploding in a furious flare of fierce Irish temper, followed by a protracted sullenness that discouraged any real camaraderie.

Johnathan had drifted through his later school years, his thoughts ever more occupied with his own dreams and fantasies, no longer even pretending to exert himself. He under-achieved intentionally, both to avoid notice, and increasingly to spite the too-rich parents who gave him all he wished, save for the praise he secretly so desired, presenting an increasingly sullen face to the teachers, who knew his true potential, but in the main who would not try to understand him.

His only true respite was the school's extensive library, in which he would sit for hours on end, devouring all it had to offer.

It was during his fourteenth year that he first began seriously to build and set down a coherent whole from the many worlds of his vivid imagination, and with them to imagine her: a wild, intense anima to counter his own loneliness, isolation and increasing disillusionment with the world around him.

Joanna Marina O'Reilly became for him, part the sister, part simply the confidante he was certain now he would never have: an invisible presence able to understand his troubles, and into whom he could channel all the frustration and anger he had not the confidence to show.

From the first, she and her reality presented a strangely dichotomous, and in many ways contradictory picture. Hers was a world in which the greatness of the British Empire had waxed rather than waned after the second world war, a world that hearkened back to an era he wished with all his heart had never died. And yet it was a world that stood upon the very edge of ruin as the twentieth century neared its end, and the Empire and its allies raced a brutal, stalinist USSR savagely for military dominance, while a fanatical, Maoist Red China bided its time and hoped each would destroy the other, and an isolationist, nominally neutral U.S.A. watched and did nothing, as the world teetered upon the very brink of cataclysmic nuclear war.

Joanna herself was from the beginning an impossibility, given her circumstances: a magnetic, street-wise virago with a heart laced with pain and grim determination: a martial artist and an accomplished singer and player of a dozen instruments: a fighter and gang-leader, cold and utterly ruthless where necessary, yet fiercely protective of those she considered her friends, and with a savage determination to escape the life of deprivation that was all she had ever known.

The only child of immigrants to a poor catholic area in the inner Sydney suburb of Darlinghurst in the Dominion of Australia, she was beaten mercilessly as a small child by parents who could not have cared less about her, until at last on her ninth birthday, when her father had tried to turn the almost daily physical abuse into something more, something had erupted suddenly from the helplessness and the fear, and she had driven a knife at his throat to send him crashing screaming through the bathroom window of their tiny eleventh-storey flat, to a broken, bloody end in the alley behind the tenement in which they lived.

It was that cathartic moment, Johnathan decided, that would forever change her. Gone was the quiet, bookish child who would simply bear and endure, and escape whenever she could. In her place was born a girl of rage and ice, and a primal, indomitable will to survive. From that day forth, he determined, she had set herself to pay her mother back a thousand-fold for every day she had suffered.

By the time Joanna had reached her eleventh year, Marina Elizabeth O'Reilly lived in perpetual terror of her daughter, unable to pretend even to herself that she could control her in any way: surrendering nearly all the money she made from selling herself on the streets, while her daughter's hatred and revulsion were a constant fear from which she could never escape, and a reminder of the ruin she had made for herself.

Meanwhile, Joanna spent her days winning back the self-confidence her parents had tried to take from her, with a frigid, ruthless determination that had every child she knew either in wide-eyed awe, or terrified of her, and almost every teacher desperate for her to be placed anywhere but under their care.

Joanna's twelfth birthday, Johnathan decreed, saw her make her first real underworld kill. He was a dealer five years her senior, who had tried, none too subtly, to convince her that it might be in her interests to sell for him on the streets and at her school, and especially to those stupid enough to think that a 'little guttersnipe like her' could protect them. In fact, she might sell something else too, he had leered. Johnathan took great pains to detail the object-lesson she had made of him: to have him plead and beg and scream for death before she left him and his bodyguard bloody, broken ruins as a warning to anyone else with the same idea.

But someone had seen: a small, wiry Japanese man, trained with superb discipline in the Art, who had come to Australia to escape his own past and tragedy, and who drank to hide all he did not want to remember. Horrified at what she had done, he would have called a dominion patrol. But he saw her slip silently into the deeper shadows, and he heard her cry.

So began her training with Hideo-sensei, her first real adult friend, and with it, the building of a fierce, unbreakable morality that otherwise she might have lost.

Like all those of her circumstances, Johnathan's anima grew up too quickly, her reputation for summary justice and unrelenting brutality towards dealers, pimps, whores and any underworld pig-swill that dared so much as look in her direction, soon so infamous that they either avoided her, or set a very high price on her head. She gave no quarter: beating, and when possible with impunity, killing anyone who dared threaten her or her friends, with a savagery and inventive flare that had soon even the worst of the Sydney underworld either too terrified to consider touching her, or wondering how she might be blackmailed or coerced into becoming an asset.

So she grew in Johnathan's mind, a girl just a little older than himself: an avenging bean-sidhe almost eleven inches taller than his own pathetic 5'1": an impossibly, devastatingly beautiful amazon with long, lustrous flame-red hair and blazing emerald eyes: a primal, desperate dichotomy to his own failings and perceived helplessness. Yet she believed herself physically unattractive, and would, save for rare moments and to very few, reveal almost no overt emotion, other than an iron will and a boundless determination to see that no one of the very few she truly cared for suffered as she had done. Supremely confident in herself and her ability to overcome any adversity, she was certain that, no matter what, she would shape her own destiny.

Only when she was alone and far from prying eyes would she allow the mask to falter, to reveal all that the world could never see, seeking desperately through her music and the fighting arts she loved, or in the boundless reaches of her imagination in the small hours when none would see the pain or the tears, something beyond the cruel deprivations of her circumstances.

So, over nearly two years, had grown the anima Johnathan had created, and the finer points of whose history now held his attention as he sat, staring moodily at the note-book Pentium on his lap. He was trying to decide just how much of her story to include in his first true attempt at a coherent full-length fantasy novel, only recently begun, to the further detriment of his final year of schooling. Joanna, of course, would be the character shifted from her world to the universe of magic and gathering darkness: someone far more fitting than himself to be the pivotal character in the story, yet close enough to him still for him to understand that, in every way that mattered, it would be his ideal: the supremely confident self he could never hope to be, that would make the journey.

Not that Johnathan had any desire to be female; indeed quite the reverse. He knew himself already more than hopelessly smitten by his creation; that was part of her appeal, and almost inevitable, given the circumstances in which she had come into being. She had become to him an unattainable, yet longed-for perfection: someone lost and lonely as himself, but who, despite their differences, would understand him, and would, could she but exist, be the friend and confidante he would never have.

Johnathan sighed. His parents were talking quietly in the front of the car, as usual ignoring the small, frail youth with too-thick glasses and quick, nervous movements who had been such a disappointment, but who could for the most part be placated with enough of an allowance to buy virtually anything he could wish.

Johnathan wished that they would just shut up for five seconds. It was proving impossible to concentrate with all their mindless prattle about lord Rutherford's dismissing of his butler, or what lady Madeline had worn to the ball at which he had been forced to waste the evening, and which had put him in one of the worst moods he had known for some considerable time.

Their speculations as to why their son was such a hopeless incompetent when it came to girls, also weren't exactly doing anything to improve his temper. Naturally, no girl had been interested in him, nor could he have cared less about any of the young so-called "ladies" with whom his parents seemed determined to match him, and see one day that he spent the rest of what he was certain would be a thoroughly miserable life. He was a hopeless dancer in any case, and usually an eloquent speaker (if nothing else, his years of reading had given him that), he seemed simply to lose all ability to think or react in a coherent fashion when a girl spoke to him.

"…and I just couldn't believe Johnathan this evening!" his mother was saying, her sharp, annoyed tone making him more furious by the second. "To think that he could be so disgracefully rude, when it was perfectly obvious Mariane was willing to dance with him."

'Willing to dance!' Johnathan fumed silently. The vindictive little cat had been trying to show him up in front of all her friends, just to see him squirm. He had heard the giggles, and seen the pointing. And if his mother thought that he was so damn stupid that he didn't know what was going on…

For a moment he glared furiously at her back, before jerking his eyes back to the note-book.

That did it! He was in just the right mood to give Joanna the additional abilities he had planned for her, far sooner than he had originally intended.

Johnathan moved his hands to the keyboard; and the machine flashed another battery warning, and a moment later, went dark.

"Baka! Baka! Baka! Baka! Baka!" he swore savagely under his breath.

Manga and Anime were a recent experience for him, discovered in part when he had been researching various martial arts disciplines for Hideo, but one that had become already something of an obsession. And being still a strict and practicing Roman Catholic, and so not prone to swear, he had begun to use such terms, especially within his parents' hearing, who were convinced they meant something much worse than they did, and so would become furious for nothing, much to his satisfaction.

With another glare at them (after all, if they had not distracted him, he could have had more written), Johnathan packed the note-book away, and sighed again. He consoled himself with the thought that they were almost home. At least then, once he had bathed and dressed for bed, he could settle in his room, and under the pretence of some homework or other needing to be finished before school camp that was to begin tomorrow, he could get back to the epic again.

* * *

"…and see that you put the clothes _outside_ your bathroom door!" His mother's voice was the cold clipped tones of righteous indignation. "I've told Sonya not to take them if you don't. Then when you have no uniform tomorrow…"

I'm going to kill her! I'm going to kill her so much! She'll be so dead they'll have to find every ancestor she ever had, and kill them too, just to make up the difference, Johnathan thought helplessly.

"All right! All right!" he said, his small weedy voice almost shrilling. "Do you think you haven't told me that every night this week?" he continued in a mutter. "Baka! I said I'd take them down myself; what's the matter with you?"

"Don't you use that tone of voice to me, Johnathan!" she snapped, her own voice, he noted furiously, although not raised nearly so much as his, still managing to carry far more volume and authority. "And stop glaring and muttering to yourself. If you learnt a little courtesy from all that reading, perhaps Mariane might have been a little less displeased with you tonight. Not that I blame her; your behaviour was unforgivable!"

Oh, for heaven's sake, will you just shut up about Mariane! he thought wildly. She's a vicious, narrow-minded, shallow, vindictive, nasty little—

"Johnathan?" his father thundered. "Are you ignoring your mother?"

Johnathan gave up, turned, and shot upstairs. His parents heard the slamming of several doors, then faint sounds as Johnathan banged things, as he prepared for a bath and bed.

"I'm going to kill you both!" he raged helplessly. "I'm going to kill you, and make a pact with the devil to bring you back, just so I can kill you again and again. And then I'm going to…"

He stopped, a little shocked despite himself. And anyway, what was the point? He had better things to do.

Gathering up his pajamas and dressing-gown, Johnathan left his room, restraining himself from slamming that door as well, and made his way to the bathroom, which no one but himself and the few friends who had stayed very infrequently had ever used.

Some half an hour later, and hoping he had used enough hot water to see that at least one of his parents would have a cold shower, Johnathan left the spa, and, just to be sure, spent another ten minutes washing his hair. Satisfied at last as he felt the water beginning to turn cold, he finished drying, and dressed quickly for bed. If he was lucky, he might get an hour's writing done before his mother sent Andrews up to see that he was in bed.

He was not lucky.

Just how old did they think he was, he thought as Andrews left and he settled himself under the blankets. "Nearly seventeen, and they treat me like some baka ten-year-old!" he fumed to himself. "Gods! I wish I was anywhere but here!"

With a sigh, he reached for the note-book again, trailing its supply as he settled himself more comfortably, and switched it on.

"You're going to get a power-boost, my wild bean-sidhe," he said softly as he called up the historical information he had begun recently revising for his anima. "I'm in a particularly bad mood, and you're about to benefit. I hope you appreciate it."

And smiling, he began to write.

* * *

It was so dark, and more deadly cold than he had ever imagined he could endure. Johnathan shivered again, staring through the icy, cloying fog, trying desperately to see his way.

"Please, Azusa-chan! You can't do this!" the cry came again, a faint, thin sound, surprisingly precise in the cloying, stifling dark. "Don't you understand? It's your complement; she's controlling you through her. Azusa; please!"

'How does this fog carry sound like that?' he thought numbly, searching vainly with eyes that could barely see an inch before his face. Damn him losing his glasses!

"I have to find them before Viko closes the gate!" he kept saying over and over again to himself. "I _have_ to! If I get myself lost here again! God! Please; I couldn't stand that; not again! Please; I have to find them!"

But the insane, maniacal laughter tore through the terrifying, numbing cold, and he knew he was out of time.

"Save what strength you have left to scream!" The voice was lost and wild.

Johnathan turned, trying with a last desperation to find a path towards the sound. Then suddenly he knew he was not alone, and in the next instant something hit him, and the world exploded in stars and pain, and he was plunging down, down into a ruinous nothingness that was for ever.

With a choked half-scream, Johnathan tore himself awake. The room was pitch dark, and his heart was pounding wildly, his hands still clutching desperately at the blankets as he wrenched himself into a sitting position, his stomach still clenched in a tight knot of fear.

He had suffered from nightmares and the far more terrifying night-terrors for as long as he could remember, and was more or less used to at least two of the former and one of the latter each month. But this one had been one of the worst he had had for a very long time.

Shifting, he lay down once more and curled on to his side, knowing that the best thing to do was to try to calm down and go back to sleep. But his heart continued to hammer savagely behind his ribcage, and the cloying, nightmare horror of the dream would not go away.

For almost a minute he remained, while an irrational, senseless horror grew on him, and a frozen cold crept slowly down his spine, until at last, both angry and increasingly alarmed, he rolled on to his back, staring upwards into the pitch blackness of the room. His heart seemed to be racing more frantically with every second, and a rising panic was beginning to claw savagely through the horror of the dream.

What was the matter with him? Why couldn't he calm down, or slow his wildly-racing heart.

Then his pulse lurched and skipped in a violent, arrhythmic stumble; and suddenly the horror of a moment before became a nameless, leaping dread.

He was having some kind of heart-attack.

Numb with terror, he froze, helpless panic dread leaping higher and hotter with every passing second, while he remained where he was and did not dare to move. But at last with a convulsive lurch, he hurled the covers aside, and half fell, half stumbled to the floor. He had to get help; if he didn't, he would die.

His breath coming in great ragged gasps, Johnathan lurched desperately for the door, feeling wildly in the dark for the handle. He missed it and nearly fell. Then he was out, reaching for the hall light, even as he tried to shout frantically for help. But the switch clicked in vain, and through his wild panic terror, Johnathan realised just how dark the house truly was. There was no power.

Shaking, numb with fear, he turned, trying desperately to call to anyone who might answer him. But his voice was no more than a choking, broken gasp, and he knew through the cloying, nightmare horror that no one could hear.

Staggering, half sobbing with primal fear, Johnathan lurched blindly along the passage, certain in his terror only that cold water might slow his screaming pulse long enough for him to call somebody. He reached the bathroom, and flung the door aside. But a wave of giddiness and nausea crashed over him, and he clung shaking to the door, sick with the certainty that it was too late. A roaring seemed to be filling his ears, and the numb, frozen cold was spreading like ice through his body, robbing him of all sense and reason, and leaving nothing but blind, all-engulfing horror in its place.

With a last effort, Johnathan lurched desperately into the room. But even as he reached the basin, pain like fire exploded in his chest, and he pitched forwards, his head striking the tap with a crack that seemed to fill the world. Then he was somersaulting into a leaping, soaring oblivion, his world exploding into ice and searing pain as he plunged down, down into a surging, hungry blackness that gaped wide to receive him.

And horror was everything; and he knew no more.

** ** **

Notes:

** ** **

Well, there it is. The main problem with the original Ch. 2, was the end, which was a joke, and the attempt to write some passages too much as the seventeen-year-old Johnathan might have done, which didn't work, and just made the writing look god-awful! Fortunately, it was easy enough to fix, and the thing's a hell of a lot better for it.

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* * *


	3. Book I: Part I: Chapter III

As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

Disclaimer:

Own only original stuff; not doing this for profit; suing would be pointless.

* * *

"Viko! Viko-Chan! Oh Kami! Oh, please no! Not you; not like this!"

The agonised scream tore through the crash and roar of wind and storm like the cries of some tormented thing, driving yet another spear of horror through his already shattered heart.

Turning, knowing with a horrible, numbing certainty that as always he would be too late, he watched helplessly as the shattered, broken body burned and melted before his eyes, even as the red-clad figure leaped away, her demonic screams of wild, lunatic triumph melting into the howling and shrieking of the wind, as she vanished into the fiery heart of the maelstrom that was now so much a part of what she had become.

Frozen, tears of rage and terror half blinding him, he watched in numb horror as the remaining figure: a twisted, ruinous mockery of the girl who once had been more precious to him than life or warmth or all the happiness in the world, moved swiftly to reach for the man Viko had given her life to protect. And still he could not see his face.

Still laughing, she lifted the broken form in her arms, bending low, her blood-covered lips parting in a languorous smile of triumph and appetite as they reached almost gently to touch his own.

"Such a tragedy!" she purred softly, her smile widening still more as the veiled figure fought in vain with the last of his strength to turn his face away. "To think that after all you've suffered together, and all you've been through, it should come to this. But then, we can't escape our destiny; the future is ordained and can't be changed. Isn't that what you told her, just as he told me?"

She laughed again, a hungry, searing sound of oblivion and boundless content. "Oh Greg, isn't it just so perfect; and with such delicious irony.

"But I really mustn't delay. Mistress is hungry for your little touch of positive reality, and my counterpart is growing very impatient. After all, I still must take _your_ counterpart. He's close and listening, did you know? Thinking and hoping, and deluding himself. But you really must see that I can't possibly be expected to wait?

"Are you ready?" she called suddenly, her tone abruptly quick and touched with a hungry, urgent excitement as she turned for a moment away from him.

In the next instant, two figures stood before her, and he gasped. One could have been her reflection, so perfectly did she match her counterpart. Yet of the second, cloaked and hooded, he could discern nothing save for the fact that it was a man, with no clue as to the face the sable hood might conceal.

The storm seemed to be surging with ever-increasing ferocity, and it was becoming difficult to hear the words through the howling of the wind and the roar and crash of thunder.

"So perfect," Purred the mirror softly, reaching with almost gentle fingers to brush lightly at the form's broken cheek. "and so defiant still."

She turned towards her companion, her languorous smile widening to match that of the first. "Your completion my darling; at last!" she continued softly. "The last one; and then everything is ours! Take him, my love! Take him, and make him scream."

A low, terrible laughter came from beneath the hood.

And then, the figure was reaching for the form the blue-clad figure held, the body seeming to dissolve and vanish even as his last, despairing scream was lost beneath the sudden searing, ruinous triumph of the hooded figure and his two companions.

For one frozen moment a darkness seemed to conceal him. Then he was standing tall, his head thrown back as his roaring, surging laughter reached a terrible, shattering crescendo.

"_FREEEEEE_!"

The cry tore skywards, his empty arms lifting as he turned, hands reaching to throw back the hood. "Free at last! Free and _one_!"

And with that, the hood was cast aside; and Urawa Ryo felt the ruin leap to engulf him as he stared at last into his own face.

For one impossible moment of nightmare, he teetered upon the knife-edge of madness. Then he was plunging down into an oblivion that was for ever, and he began to scream: a scream that had no beginning, and that would last until the uttermost end of eternity.

And they looked; and thought that it was good.

** ** **

Darkness Chronicles  
An anime-Manga Cross-over

** ** **

Book I:  
Part I: The Gathering  
Chapter III:

** ** **

"World Shaking!"

"Deep Submerge!"

The twin attacks crashed into the place in which she had been scant moments before.

"Where?" Was all Uranus had time to gasp, before the whispered: "Dead Scream!" sent both her and Neptune spinning headlong to crash in a painful and undignified tangle of arms and legs in the sand.

"Better," Came Pluto's calm, quiet voice as she hurried to where the two lay half stunned. "Better; but not good enough. You're still hesitating, assuming your initial attacks will at least come close to finding their mark, and not preparing to follow immediately in the event you're opponent has anticipated. Do you truly believe the enemy will stand and wait while you stop to wonder why he's still alive?"

Growling, Uranus disentangled herself from Neptune's prone form, moving to help the other girl stand as she rose swiftly to her feet, and spun to glare at their teacher.

The sudden and intensive training had begun at her own request. The growing uncertainty, culminating in their helplessness against Neherenia and the appalling scope of the nearly-catastrophic defeat Galaxia had dealt them, had frightened her far more than she was willing to concede, even to Neptune, and time was growing short; of that she had begun to feel ever more certain. Just when the final cataclysm and the cold that would cast the Earth into a frozen stillness for perhaps a century would come, Pluto would not say: perhaps she could not. Yet even Uranus, unused to brooding upon such things, felt increasingly of late that it would be soon, a sentiment she was almost certain her quiet, turquoise-haired companion shared, although she had said nothing. It was not something either of them seemed eager to discuss.

Staring now at Pluto's tall, implacable figure as she stood calmly waiting for one of them to speak, Uranus felt a momentary savage resentment at the green-haired Senshi's seeming indifference to the troubles of the world, as though at a whim she might pick the possibility that best suited her purposes from a myriad of choices, leaving them to fend as best they could while she stood cold and aloof, and watched and waited, and said nothing.

Then Pluto's cool appraising regard softened, and the illusion was banished as she shifted to become Meiou Setsuna once more.

"You can't do this alone, Haruka."

Her voice was little more than a murmur, almost lost in the gentle surging and sighing of the sea as she studied the other Senshi's set, almost savage face. "It's time to go back; time to face her."

For a long moment Uranus made no answer. Then with a short, almost vicious gesture, she detransformed, and turned quickly away.

"We failed…_I_ failed her," she said simply, her voice hard-edged with tension and something almost akin to self-loathing in the sudden quiet of the sea.

Beside her, Neptune shivered suddenly, even as her Senshi-self slipped beneath the surface, and Kaiou Michiru reached to touch Haruka's hand.

"We couldn't have done more," she said softly, her own voice tense behind the sudden tightness in her throat, as much for Haruka's pain as for her own uncertainty. "We did all we could."

"And it wasn't enough." Abruptly, Haruka whirled on them, eyes blazing. Yet the anger seemed to be turned almost entirely against herself as her hands clenched convulsively at her sides. "It's _never_ enough!" she snarled, the pain now roar in her voice, although her face remained a savage stoic mask.

"How long?" she continued low and tight. "How long before the next enemy, and a greater; and always we arrive too late, and do too little.

"Damn it, we owe her for this; can't you see that? We…_I_ betrayed her; I gambled everything on a fool's hope. And for what! If it hadn't been for her and an unbelievable amount of good luck, we'd be lost; slaves to Galaxia and Chaos; slaves for the rest of time! No Crystal Tokyo; no future. And it's down to me. If I'd held on, fought to the end—!"

"No!" Michiru's answer was fierce. "We stand and fall together, you and I. So it's always been. It's our way; you yourself told her that. If you want really to blame yourself, to believe you weren't strong enough, then I can't argue with you. But at least accept the truth: that we were all equally at fault, and that it was both of us who agreed to that last desperate plan. Do you think I didn't know what you were trying to do? Do you think I didn't understand that there was no other way!"

"I could have held on; fought to the end, until I had nothing left. But for you, I betrayed her. Can't you see! I was lying to myself, _and_ to you. I wanted to live Michiru: or at least, some small part of me did. And I didn't care what it cost. I wasn't wholly lying to Galaxia in those last moments.

"Don't you understand! We can't go on like this; not after Galaxia. We…_I'm_ a liability to her, and I _won't_ have that: not again. I care too much, damn it; for you; for the princess; for Hotaru; for the others; yes damn it, even for you," she said suddenly, turning for a moment to Setsuna, a sudden wry smile quirking for a moment at her face. Then it was gone, and the fierce mask was back once more. "I…we have to sort things out in our own minds before this can happen again: before we fail her again, and their are no more miracles left. I have to know that what I can give is enough."

Abruptly she whirled away, her sudden brisk, savage strides carrying her from Michiru's suddenly reaching hand, to vanish quickly into the gathering darkness of the glowering late afternoon.

For a long moment, Michiru remained, one hand reaching still helplessly in the direction in which the taller girl had disappeared, half turned as though to call, or to try to follow her. Then a gentle hand touched her arm, and she turned surprised to catch the sudden un-looked-for sympathy and understanding in Setsuna's red eyes.

"Give her time." The voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "She's afraid, and she doesn't know how to deal with it. Let her walk for a while; a few minutes; then find her. I'll wait with Hotaru in the kissaten.

"But don't be too long," she ended with a sudden full smile, and a lighter bantering edge to her voice. "That storm won't wait, and I'd prefer to be back in the city before I have to endure Haruka's particular brand of driving in the dark."

Abruptly Michiru reached for the hand on her arm, squeezing it with a sudden intensity of warmth she had not been sure she possessed for the cool aloof senshi.

"We'd have fallen long ago without you, Setsuna." The words slipped into the sudden stillness between them, almost before she had realised how absolute was that truth. "We'd have failed, and the Princess would be gone, and the future so much ash but for you. You know I can never—"

"Shh," setsuna said softly, her own hand pressing the younger girl's in return. "You underestimate her, Michiru. I think that's a mistake everyone makes at least once; yes: even I." A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "She may be frail on the surface, but within that golden heart lies a core of unbreakable steel. None have learnt that to greater cost than the enemies who have dared challenge the good in her, and in the future she has fought so hard to protect. She has enough strength and faith and love for all of us, and some to spare; never forget that.

"Now go on; I think a certain senshi's had long enough."

And pressing Michiru's hand once more, Setsuna slipped almost silently away, her face once more its calm, inscrutable mask as she vanished in the direction of the kissaten, and the waiting Saturn.

For a moment, Michiru watched her as she disappeared. Then with a smile and a gentle shake of her head, she turned swiftly away.

"We see that too little, Setsuna: the kindness beneath the guardian," she murmured softly.

Then pulling herself abruptly from the sudden introspection, she turned her eyes along the shore, and began to walk, hurrying in the chill of late afternoon to bring Haruka home.

* * *

Peaceful darkness, and the quiet, reassuring stillness of his chamber. As always, that was the first thing of which he became aware as the horror of the nightmare faded, and he opened his eyes with a gasp of relief. For a moment they continued to smart reflexively with the remembered agony of the terrible, unimaginable brilliance they had seen, the phantom torment of the agonising burns he had endured coursing for one horrifying moment of memory through his head. Then the gnawing chill bit into him, and he sighed and shifted on the low pallet, shivering a little in the gentle darkness as he drew the thin Kaihei fur closer about him.

Kalleth had forgotten to charge the brazier again.

Not that it would make much difference. The land, like everything else, was dying, and with its death, the last of the magic that maintained the ruins of a realm that he, like all its many denizens, had once believed unassailable. Every enchantment, every power and ability no matter how small, grew ever more difficult to manifest as each day raced inexorably towards the final dissolution: the final death of the last pale shadows of the Dark Kingdom.

Uranite sighed again. As the last high mage: the last trained by Nephrite and Kunzite themselves – not that that was likely to count for much now – he, more than any of the six who had taken this last gasp of power after the terrible disaster of the fall, understood just how desperate had become their situation, and how vital it was that they prepare as swiftly as they could to flee what little remained of the last surviving stronghold of Beryl's once mighty realm, to the dubious safety of the dimension and the world they had once sought to make their own.

To Uranite, as to the others, it was a desperate, perhaps an all but hopeless plan. Granted: they could sacrifice some few ruined, shattered youma, their minds so broken after the impossible horror of contact with the terrible crystal, that they were useless for anything but conduits for the mana their brothers and sisters so desperately needed. Their final destruction would give them and their followers a short respite in which they might draw upon the natural mana of the earth to sustain them, until they could gain the life-energy they would need.

But in the end it was, he believed, a lost battle, unless they could be almost inconceivably fortunate. They had no kingdom to draw upon in any confrontation with the senshi: no kingdom, and no Metallia. The force that had once sustained them and the land they had come to call home was gone: wiped from the very fabric of reality, as though she had never existed. And it was this more than anything else that had prompted Uranite to attempt his latest desperate proposal, a proposal of which even Tellurite dared not speak beyond the confines of the chambers that had become their personal domain, lest it be heard by even the most loyal of their people: the faintest possibility of, at the last, a plea for clemency from the terrifying, dreadful leader of the senshi.

They had laughed at first as he knew they would: called him a fool, and a dangerous fool at that. Even fierce, yet honourable Cryolite had glared at him, and demanded to know at what point in particular he had decided to take leave of his senses. Apatite had mocked him openly – not that he had expected more of her – while Halite had remained stoic, and as always kept his own council. Of all, only Zeolite, herself a healer, and closer to the mage in nature than the rest, had maintained at least an outward calm, listening without comment while he outlined the barest inklings of that last fools' hope.

Yes: it was a desperate plan. No: he did not see it as anything save the last desperate gasp of a people with nowhere else to turn. Yes: he accepted that they might well die and bring the last of their people to ruin, before they could hope to negotiate. But he could see no other realistic alternative. Energy was at a premium, and the number of broken youma were few. Escape to the world was their last chance, and even were it possible beyond all reason to stabilise and maintain the ruins of the Kingdom, they could not afford to continue to sacrifice the shells that were capable still of procreation, if possessed temporarily by others. their population base was already critically small.

It had been a long and protracted council, and all of them had been exhausted and in ill-temper by the time Tellurite decided nothing more could be achieved without rest, and brought it to an end with the sealing of the chamber lights, and the releasing of the collective enchantment that kept out unwanted eyes and ears and prying minds.

Uranite shivered again. The days were growing swiftly more chill, and in a realm without seasons, the gathering cold was killing what little flora and fauna had survived the cataclysm with inexorable swiftness. If they did not escape within the next quarter-month and before the festival of Metallia at its end, they would be finished.

"High-Lord Uranite-sama?"

The sudden soft voice by the door almost caused the mage to start in surprise. He had not sensed Kalleth's approach, and that was not good. Very foolish, and _very_ dangerous, even though he did not doubt the sleek felinoid-woman's loyalty.

Even now there were those too stupid to comprehend that any attempt to seize a share in the power of the new Kingdom from one of the six, even should they manage by some miracle to survive the attempt, would spell its end, as surely as though they had set out to destroy it themselves.

Only with him and his companions did any hope remain. They were the last: the last of a vanishingly small few that had ever been, who could survive, even if only for a little, without a constant background of mana, powerless though they would swiftly become without it.

Uranite was still postulating as to why and how they and the thousand or so other survivors, had managed to weather the obliterating wave of the Ginzuishou. The most popular theory was simply that they had been far enough from the epicentre of the wave to escape the worst of its cataclysmic power.

For himself, Uranite doubted this to be the case. With what little he had been able to glean from the watcher-crystals Beryl's paranoia (not to mention that of her generals) had ensured were concealed in myriad locations throughout the realm, distance simply did not matter to the reality-warping powers of the terrible crystal. It's destruction had been as absolute in the furthest reaches of the realm as in the very throne-room of the insane queen's palace.

For Uranite, another possibility seemed more likely, if very dangerous to suggest even now within hearing of any save his companions. The crystal sought out and destroyed what it perceived as evil or negative, and in this case more specifically, the evil inspired by, and created of Metallia. Only should one possess, even if in the smallest of measure, some inherent defence against that influence, could, he suspected, one survive its touch. In which case, a curious philosophical point was raised: that being why they had not changed to become what would remain after that influence was no more, perhaps revert to their original base form.

For that question Uranite had no answer. Perhaps it was something as simple and indefinable as an instinctive protection of the soul, a recognition by the Ginzuishou of some long-buried remnant of what they might have been. Perhaps the Ginzuishou did no more than re-awaken that latent potential for good in those few Metallia's long influence had not yet utterly overwhelmed. Whatever the answer, it gave Uranite the faintest flicker of hope that they might in some way be able to bargain with its wielder, and the terrible warriors who served her, as vanishingly small as that hope might prove.

"High-Lord?"

Kalleth's timid inquiry brought him once more from his introspection, a state into which his mind seemed to fall of late with ever greater frequency.

That also was not good.

Sighing, Uranite allowed her to help him from the pallet, then sat calmly on its edge as she drew water, and filled the low rock basin on the further side of the small cavern. Even he, as a member of the High Circle, was allowed only two servants, one to be on hand whenever he wished; they simply could not afford the energy wasted in a retinue attending to their needs.

Still seated, he watched silently as the cat-like woman heated the water with a murmured incantation that expended a little of her daily allowance of mana, then felt a faint smile trying to touch the corners of his mouth as she turned to move swiftly to him.

As always, she bowed low, baring her small sharp teeth in a smile as she reached to help him to his feet, purring low in her throat in a fashion she had learned soothed him, despite his insistence that it was a singularly irritating sound. But then, he was determined to keep at least this distance between them; he had already allowed her too much, and from the beginning she had misinterpreted perhaps wilfully his gentler treatment as carrying intentions he could never have.

For him, only chill, self-assured Cryolite could reach the something within him that he was almost certain his agonised encounter with the power of the Ginzuishou had touched into blazing fire. Only she could set his usually steady heart to racing wildly, and his ordered mind to turmoil as he watched her drive herself day after day in her determination to overmatch even Tellurite in the finest control of her mind, and of her powers. If any of them could survive the Tartarus their future had become, it would be the fierce, beautiful green-haired Cryolite, of that he was sure.

Even in those last heady days of the Kingdom, when Beryl's absurd propaganda had even him believing that their birthright was ripe for the taking, Cryolite had remained coldly sceptical, risking an agonising end should her views become known to any save the five with whom she had shared her childhood, and whom alone she trusted, and who trusted her and one another in return, as diverse as each of them might be.

Of all of them, Apatite: an impulsive and viciously unpredictable dichotomy to her elder sister's cold self-control, had been the most certain that they could not fail, that their glorious queen would lead them to Earth, and to victory.

Uranite could remember still with terrible clarity their gathering upon that last night before the end, their spirits save for Apatite's crashing with Kunzite's death in a sudden terrifying realisation of what until only days before had seemed utterly inconceivable: that the terrible wielder of the Ginzuishou might bring the war to the Kingdom.

Even then, Apatite had insisted that there was no cause for alarm: that no matter what powers Sailor Moon had displayed, she and her accursed court were after all no more than helpless human girls, with no hope of challenging the might of the Kingdom.

Cryolite had laughed openly, and suggested that her impetuous younger sister present herself as part of the vanguard, perhaps as Kunzite's replacement, if she was so sure still of victory, let alone the sanity of the queen.

As always, Apatite had erupted in a furious burst of infantile temper that had left her sister laughing all the harder as she had held her at last pinned half beneath her, and waited while the younger woman struggled and screamed, and swore that she would see them all in the chamber of eternal sleep when this was over, and the Earth was theirs. And as always, they had paid no more heed to her threats than ever they had done since they had become old and wary enough to know that she was as much a part of the 'Circle' (as they had called themselves, even as young children, beyond the hearing of others) as any of them, and that for whatever reason, she would never be their enemy.

The struggle had ended as it always did, with Apatite's rage dissolving into frustrated tears as she wound her arms around her elder sister's neck, and buried her face in her emerald hair in a gesture Cryolite seemed to tolerate, although she knew well her sister's attempt at affection was far from innocent. Such advances had always sickened her, though such liaisons were as accepted as were most things within the Kingdom. Only in the matter of breeding was a certain genetic distance demanded; after all, there was no use for the cumulative faults such progeny were likely to possess.

Cryolite had waited with long-practiced patience until her sister's infantile sobs had ceased, then summarily disentangled Apatite's arms from around her, and moved to rise.

Then the first tremors had struck, and moments later their universe had exploded in light, and terror, and searing, agonising pain.

Uranite started, wrenching his memory with difficulty from the horror of that terrible night, to focus once more on the tall sleek form before him. Kalleth was studying him intently, her vague telepathic sense granting her but for an instant and dimly, the merest shadows of the echoes of his remembered fear. And she needed no more to understand, as a moment's terror at her own memories caused a catch in her gentle purring, and a momentary flashing of her jade eyes.

For a moment she tensed, baring her teeth in a low snarl as her head darted from side to side, eyes slitting savagely as she searched for some unseen foe. Then Uranite's hand touched her arm, and the memory was only a memory once more.

"Peace," he said simply, his tone pitched to soothe. "It's passed, Kalleth. Let it go.

"Now," he continued more brusquely, "unless of course you intend to explain to the others why I was delayed before this morning's council, shall we proceed?"

Gulping, the moment lost, as to her it always seemed to be, Kalleth leaped swiftly to attention, moving with fluid grace to help her master from the simple gown in which he slept, and to the now steaming basin to bathe before his breakfast of Kigha, the pale fungi the only staple that remained viable in the dying ecology of the Kingdom.

"It begins today High-Lord?"

It was a transparent attempt on her part to make conversation, since everyone knew what was to happen that morning. But he allowed it to pass, and answered with his mouth full, watching as she busied herself with stripping the pallet of its woven covering, fascinated as always at her efficiency as she re-absorbed the silk-like fabric she could create, and began to spin more, very much in the fashion of a spider, though no obvious source was visible, and the silken stuff seemed simply to flow from her long taloned fingers.

"Vedris and Alaegra are preparing now," he told her, not needing even to concentrate to feel the subtle shift in the dying mana of the Kingdom to know that the two were still drawing from it in a now-rarely permitted frenzy of feeding for the journey they would soon begin. "They should be ready by the time I reach the council chamber.

"Speaking of which: the others are gathering; I must be on my way."

With that he rose swiftly, turning for a moment to regard his reflection in the tall copper mirror by the brazier. The roguish, angular features stared intently back at him, the dark eyes regarding his own with cool, unnerving appraisal, the dark hair swept severely back in a fashion he knew added to a chill, ruthless demeanour he found it increasingly difficult to cultivate.

Sighing again, he moved swiftly to the entrance, turning only to remind Kalleth to seal his chamber when she had finished the task with which she would be occupied until noon, and her daily battle-training: that of the continued cataloguing and packing of those scrolls he had been able to salvage from the ruins of the palace library, in preparation for a departure he above all knew must be soon.

For this, Kalleth was ideally suited. Literate, yet limited in the nature of her powers (although not in using what she possessed), she could gain nothing by reading of techniques she could never hope to master.

Smiling and shifting in a seductive stretch that left him unmoved, she assured him that today she should manage to catalogue and seal the last of the scrolls.

Uranite did not doubt her. She had been an astoundingly valuable find, ever since he had first discovered her wandering, dazed and half witless, only days after the cataclysm, in the furthest reaches of the realm.

She had tried to tear his throat out, half mad with pain and fear as she was, and he had assumed her to be beyond help. But Zeolite, reaching them in time to down the crazed cat-woman with a single touch that had frozen her in mid-thought, had assured him that her mind was intact beneath the pain and terror. And together they had wrenched her back to awareness and her right senses; they could not afford to waste time with coaxing, and nothing more was expected in the Kingdom.

Zeolite had dismissed her immediately, but something in the unusual sincerity of her gratitude had caught Uranite's interest, and he had accepted her bond-oath as slave to master, and had not regretted the decision, save for the problem of her increasingly overt infatuation.

Now he remained for a moment by the unsealed entrance to his chamber, watching silently as she settled at the low stone shelf that served as his work-table, her head already down, and a quill pen moving between hand and teeth as she alternated between writing, reading, and sealing the scrolls with a quick, fluid flick of a fine silken thread. Then he felt the impatient touch of Tellurite's mind, coupled with the fainter echoes of Apatite's irritation, and turning swiftly, he left the chamber, reaching back to touch the seals with his own awareness even as he hurried through the passages towards the council chamber, and those that awaited him.

* * *

"Huh-ha! Senshi! Can't catch me!"

The taunt, as it always did, drew a snarl of frustrated rage from the tall humanic youma-girl as she lunged furiously at the darting, illusive form of her younger brother as he flitted in and out of the deeper shadows amongst the rocks of the narrowing canyon. Magnetite had begun to use that particular taunt almost as soon as the first tales of the re-arisen Senshi had reached the Kingdom, whenever he wished to annoy his elder sister, despite her warnings that he would die, and slowly, should anyone save herself be close enough to hear him.

He had ignored her of course, something the little veshka was particularly good at doing, and she was certain it had been the cataclysm alone that had saved the imbecilic little fool's life.

Galenite cursed vehemently under her breath and bared her teeth in growing fury. They were not supposed to be here: would not have been, had it not been for his continual determination to try her patience, not to mention that of the Circle guard: the new title for those few their diminishing mana could ensure were fully active and prepared at any time of the day or night. It had been decreed that all must remain within the immediate environs of the stronghold, save by direct command of the circle, upon pain of death for any who disobeyed; the rest of the realm was simply too dangerous a place to wander, with their final departure so imminent.

And still the Ginzuishou-cursed little fool slipped away to explore, even daring the shattered strongholds of the generals and the gutted ruins of the mad queen's palace itself, venturing even to the very throne-room that had until so recently held all save the bravest, or the most foolish in stark, unrelenting worship or terror: to Galenite, the distinction seemed at best a dubious one.

It was towards one of these strongholds he was leading her now a merry dance, determined, she knew, to climb (as he had done before) to the very summit, and enter once more the shattered star-chambers of the disgraced Lord Nephrite that stood upon the very margin of the realm, in the vain hope of touching again the power he had just begun to realise before the cataclysm had brought the old world to an end.

"Magnetite!"

Her tone had long ceased to be conciliatory, and her sapphire-blue eyes seemed to blaze with their own inner fire as she increased her pace, and began at last to close the distance between herself and her wildly running quarry, her long blue-green hair streaming behind her as she prepared to do something foolish, and let loose a pulse-shock of air to knock him from his feet, and hopefully into better sense, before he fell, or worse, brought a decury to investigate the forbidden stirrings of power far beyond those parts of the realm still believed to be habitable.

At nearly thirteen, she was just beginning to realise the full potential of her maturing abilities, while at a little under four years her junior, he was still small and wary enough to dominate, even discounting the fact that neither of them were typical; after all, she troubled to care what happened to him, and he for his part knew he could trust her to take care of him for the little time remaining until he was considered adult enough to fend for himself. Such care was both rare and frowned upon, and one of the reasons he was certain he could test her patience within limits.

Youma were expected to survive or perish on their own merits, save when they were very young, and any sentimentality on the part of another was likely to be rewarded with death should it prove advantageous. There had simply been no room in Metallia's world for such defeatist traits as warmth, compassion or closeness.

"Magnetite!" her voice was now a low vicious snarl, sufficient usually to demonstrate he had pushed her far beyond her limits. But today, he was proving unusually intransigent. "I warn you, I've far passed the limits of my patience!"

"You gotta catch me first, Senshi!" he grinned, turning to poke his blue tongue out at her, then back-flipping with a telekinetic boost to land upon the first of the ledges at the canyon's further end that could prove as steps for one with his natural abilities, to the high plateau, and the ruined stronghold beyond.

Cursing him and herself aloud for not subduing him before it came to this, yet smiling inwardly with a sudden surge of relief, Galenite gathered herself, then with a single bound leaped to the ledge upon which he had been standing a split-second before, and to which he had only managed to leap by using his growing powers.

Now she had him. As nimble as he was, he was far from a match for her in strength, only managing to reach each successive ledge by expending some of his daily allowance of mana. He had lost himself in the chase, and would have nothing left by the time he reached the plateau, while she was expending nothing but physical reserves as she kept him at a frantic pace, letting loose the occasional snarled curse to keep him racing and too frantic to realise what she was doing.

He had at last begun to understand that she had long ceased to be amused by the game, and real fear had begun to replace the self-assurance of only moments before, as he realised that he was in for the beating of his life, when finally she caught up with him.

"That's right! Keep running, you little Vaghrae!" she hissed to urge him faster, her fury evaporating into grim satisfaction at regaining control of his little game. "When I get my hands on you, you'll wish I'd _fed_ you to a Senshi! I'll make what Moon did to Metallia herself seem like brazier tales, before I properly start with you!"

He was frightened now, she could sense it as something close and tight, and she had to force down the sudden moment of guilt before driving him still faster with another snarl.

He had to learn, and learn swiftly. The days of their games, far from prying eyes and probing minds, were at an end. His foolishness was endangering all of them with the needless waste of precious mana, little though it was, and better that he learn from a beating and a little terror from her now, than that he should be taken before the Circle, and perhaps his very soul wiped of everything, to become nothing more than a conduit for the mana he could channel and hold.

Whimpering, his breath coming in desperate gasps, and his thoughts a sudden surge of barely-controlled panic to her acute senses, he hurled himself from the final ledge, struck down upon the plateau, and stumbling forwards, collapsed panting to his knees, half-incoherent sobs and pleas pouring from his mouth and mind, as she reached the final ledge and made to close the distance between them.

Then she felt him start and raise his head. And then he began to scream.

For one heart-stopping instant, Galenite was numbly certain a Circle guard, or worse, one of the High Circle themselves had found him. Then she was soaring to land at his side, and a moment later she too was frozen, staring in gaping, nightmare terror at the black nothingness before them: a black nothingness where the ruins of Nephrite's stronghold should have been.

"Oh Serenity's Ginzuishou-cursed _palace_!" she gasped, her voice a broken whimper in her own ears.

It was as if they looked into the final darkness that awaited all beyond death, and of which night-tales told: a darkness that had no beginning, and that would stretch until the uttermost end of eternity.

For a moment, she remained, head up, sapphire eyes wide and starting in horrified fascination at the impenetrable wall of uttermost night, as it moved inexorably towards them, devouring all before it: land and sky and mana, and the very fabric of reality. Then she was seizing Magnetite in an iron grip, and a moment later she was leaping wildly from ledge to ledge, screaming and screaming silently for any Circle guard who might be able to find them, while she kept her mouth tightly closed, lest she begin to scream aloud, and never be able to stop.

For one brief instant, an image of the stronghold and the chamber of the High Circle flashed clear in her mind. Then with a cataclysmic detonation of unchannelled mana, she was spinning in wild, helpless confusion, and a moment later she tumbled headlong from the unfocused teleport into the very hall before the chamber, seals shattering around her as she managed in her terror what should have been impossible, a leap into the very heart of the High Circle's domain.

For one stunned moment, Uranite, who had himself prepared the seals and to whom they were most attuned, reeled in agony in the midst of a chill retort to one of Apatite's more sadistic barbs, barely keeping his senses as he staggered from his place almost to his knees. Then the six were on their feet, leaping as one to the doors, the inner seals falling away as they hurled them wide to face the enemy; and froze at what they saw.

"What in Beryl's name!" Tellurite gasped, while Zeolite was already moving to the two prone forms.

"The boy is dead," she said simply, although there was no need. The small body was already beginning to dissolve, fading and dissipating, even as they watched. "The girl is drained, but she will live, should I be swift. Do we save her?"

"And have the Ginzuishou-crazed little witch do something like that again?" Apatite snarled.

She showed no apparent concern for Uranite, although that was simply her way, and she would have trusted him with her life. But the thought that a half-grown girl could smash down seals created of someone of his potential sent sudden chills of terror racing up and down her spine; the more so because the girl had remained an unknown until this moment, and it was impossible to guess as to what else, and perhaps of greater subtlety, she might try, should she be allowed to recover.

"She's completely helpless," Zeolite assured her coolly. "and if you don't trust me by now to ensure she remains so…

"Well?" she inquired, turning to the others.

"We can't afford to waste _any_ potential unless we've no choice," said Tellurite, his cold grey eyes turning to regard the limp, huddled form. "And it's clear she has tremendous latent abilities. Even fully trained, it's no mean feat to break the seals of a High Mage, and she hasn't the aura of long discipline."

"Besides," Cryolite added as she moved to kneel at Zeolite's side, "it would be the height of stupidity to allow her to die before we discovered what drove her to this, and what she hoped to achieve, if anything."

"A surprise attack; that's obvious," Apatite responded immediately. "Perhaps that boy possessed temporal or spatial abilities for which she assumed we would have no defence, and they planned to take us unawares. Let the little traitor die; we haven't time to waste with her."

"I see," Cryolite responded, her tone laced both with amusement and contempt. "In which case, we can assume she leaped from the margins of the realm with the boy, expending almost the last of her mana, and _all_ of his I might add, in the belief that we'd be so astounded by her sudden appearance that we'd all die conveniently of apoplectic collapse. A battle-plan the finer points of whose subtlety I must say, utterly escapes me. But then, incomprehensible and machiavellian over-complication was always your strong suit."

"Why you…you serenity-damned bitch!" Apatite screamed, her face a mask of sudden rage as she whirled towards her elder sister, although all of them knew very well that the fury was born of humiliation and her helpless fascination, rather than anything else.

With an incoherent snarl, she launched herself bodily at the tall emerald-haired woman, and the others shifted in irritation, knowing as always how this would end.

Not even deigning to shift her position, Cryolite waited, holding perfectly still until Apatite's sharp nails were within a fractional distance of her face. Then her hand blurred towards her, and an instant later the smaller blue-haired woman was pinned in one arm, her face turning the colour of her hair as Cryolite held her impotent and unable to move with her own greater power, while her long, slender hand tightened about her throat.

"I could break it, you know," she remarked conversationally, a sudden deadly purr in her cold, clear voice. "Don't try me, Apatite; you know what will happen. I'm only willing to stand these little tantrums because I know you're too much of a spoilt little girl to do anything else. But I'm fast losing patience, and we don't have the time.

"I assume you understand? An affirmative gasp will do."

Apatite could only gurgle something incoherent in answer, her sister's mind already having wrapped her own in a smothering cocoon that made even a telepathic response impossible.

"All right," Tellurite snapped impatiently, the tight, barely controlled fury in his tone showing to the others just how unsettled he was still; "enough! You've proved your point."

Cryolite half turned, not relaxing her hold for a moment even as her eyes flashed to his own in fierce challenge. For a moment, Tellurite met her implacable emerald stare. Then abruptly he whirled away with a savage twist.

But Uranite had caught the unease in his grey eyes, and he knew that even Tellurite, powerful as he was, knew better than to challenge the fierce, self-assured fighter on something so close to her heart, and something she considered increasingly threatened their security.

He made as though to say something himself, then Zeolite's voice cut through the sudden silence: "Cryolite, you're hurting her; let her go."

Uranite turned at that, and started as he saw real terror in Apatite's starting eyes as tears streamed helplessly down her cheeks. And suddenly he understood that Cryolite was pushing the limits of her sister's trust, and that the look was very close to one of horrified realisation and a growing betrayal.

Then Cryolite had relaxed her hold, and the smaller woman was curled up in her arms, whimpering and shivering and clutching at her in a nauseating display of melodramatic distress, and the moment was gone.

'One day you will push her too far.' Zeolite's quiet thought to Cryolite was for her alone, but Uranite caught it. 'She won't change; you're wasting your time if you think she will. She's as much a part of the Circle as the rest of us, and you know we can trust her.'

"Damn you!" Apatite choked, not relaxing her hold. "Damn you to Tartarus, Cryolite!"

Then she pressed her face into her sister's hair, and tried to force more tears.

"I assume," Halite's cool tone cut through the absurd moment, "that the entertainment is over for the morning? We do have more important concerns just at the moment. So can we forget Apatite's melodramatics, and get back to our guest?"

He jabbed a finger in the limp humanic's direction, then froze as he sensed Zeolite had already begun the flow of mana that would give the girl a chance at healing.

"She would have been dead a dozen times, had I waited for the rest of you," she said simply. "I assumed we wanted her to live."

"If possible; and certainly until we learn more, and discover what she was trying to do," Tellurite agreed, as Apatite at last composed herself, and the rest returned their attention fully to the strange girl once more. "Can you probe her, or is she too deep?"

"She's in no fit state for an intensive interrogation," Zeolite answered. "Probably, I can pull the last few moments before she arrived from her memory without doing any lasting damage. But any more…"

"Then that will have to do," he said brusquely.

"Give me a moment then. Uranite, you might want to see this."

"Mm," The mage nodded, glancing for a moment to where Apatite stood, her eyes fixed still possessively on her sister in a way he did not like at all. As usual, Cryolite was ignoring her, her attention fixed on his cousin as she reached to lay a slender hand on the young youma's head.

"This should only take a moment… Metallia's black soul!"

The horrified exclamation brought Uranite to her side and into contact with the probe in an instant. A moment later both were on their feet, Uranite whirling desperately to face the others.

"Have Vedris and Alaegra here, now!" his voice and eyes brooked no argument. "Get the warriors prepared, and the rest mana-fed and ready."

"What in Tartarus are you babbling about?" Apatite demanded shrilly, although her suddenly ashen face told him that she had already reached a guess.

"Collapse," his tone was cold and final. "We've perhaps an hour to escape before there is nothing left of this reality, or of us. The Dark Kingdom is finished."

* * *

"Usagi, you _really_ are impossible!" Rei glared down in exasperation at the hopeless odango-atama as she pulled herself to her feet.

Usagi stood, staring down miserably at the remains of her ice-cream cone, the expected tears already beginning to shimmer in her blue eyes.

"It wasn't my fault! I can't help it if they let the grass get like this, and put weeds everywhere."

She pointed down at the hump that had tripped her, and prepared to let loose with a full-fledged wail.

"And stop that noise! Everyone's looking at us! Not that that ever seems to make any difference to you."

"Rei-chan!" Usagi began, then abruptly the tears vanished as though cut off with a switch.

"Mamo-chan!" she shrieked. "Where did you get to! We've been waiting for simply ages!"

In the next instant she had nearly bowled over a man, his wife and their three children in an effort to reach the object of her attention.

Stifling an exclamation of despair, Rei hurried to catch up with them.

"Honestly, Usagi; can't you at least look where you're going?" she demanded, knowing already that it was a waste of time.

Usagi had already latched on to Mamoru's arm, and was paying about as much attention to her as to the ground before her feet, This fact demonstrated amply a moment later when she tripped again, and would have sprawled headlong had not Mamoru caught her in time.

It had been Usagi's suggestion to visit the new theme park on its first day, the others agreeing, despite Rei's assertion that it would be packed, and that they'd be better waiting a few days for the excitement to die down. But patience was not one of Usagi's or Minako's more notable traits, and she had at last capitulated, rather than endure Usagi's pleading, not to mention be the only one left behind, since the others had convinced Ami that a single day away from her seemingly ever-increasing study schedule would do her no harm. The extensive Science Hall and the international exhibition that was to be a part of the park's inauguration had also gone a long way to convincing her.

Usagi had even asked Hotaru (and by extension, the other outer Senshi), but Hotaru had apologised, saying that they had something else they needed to do.

There had been real regret in her voice. But all Rei had been able to see was the outers distancing themselves yet again.

"If they want to be like that, forget them," she had snapped none too charitably, when Usagi had continued to harp on the matter that morning, the resulting tears and accusations concerning her ill-temper doing nothing to improve said temper as the day progressed.

Now she sighed as she watched Usagi manipulate an unresisting Mamoru into buying her another ice-cream. She had started out in a particularly accommodating mood, determined for once not to quarrel with the girl she loved as a sister (though she would never have admitted it, especially to her) and spoil the day; but Usagi could be just so impossible, and as always her resolve had come to nothing. Almost as soon as they met Usagi had mentioned the outer Senshi, and the arguing had started.

"Stupid Odango-Atama!" Rei muttered, far more angry with herself than with Usagi. "Why do you always manage to do this to me?"

She sighed again, a faint smile trying to touch her lips as she watched Mamoru capitulate, and Usagi beam as she hurried beside him towards a stand, seeming utterly oblivious to Rei until suddenly she glanced back with a full beckoning smile that brought a sudden choking lump to Rei's throat.

"Oh Usagi-chan! You really are impossible," she said softly once more.

Then hiding a secret smile of her own, she moved swiftly to take her place once more at the side of her princess, and her friend.

* * *

"_Yes_!" Minako exulted as the last ball sailed perfectly through the centre of the hoop and struck the pin, to send it falling with a satisfying ping, turning for a moment to flash Makoto a triumphant grin as the stall's proprietor sighed good-naturedly, and moved to lay yet another furry bundle in her arms.

He glanced helplessly for a moment at the considerable pile she had already accumulated as she gestured for the game once more to be reset, casting a pleading look towards her taller companion before he moved back behind the counter to begin retrieving the balls.

"Um, Mina-chan? Don't you think…"

Makoto gestured with the same helplessness at the pile of stuffed toys, and shook her head. "How are you going to _carry_ all these?"

Minako turned, seeming only then to become fully aware of just how large the pile had become.

"Oops!" she blushed, her hand abruptly behind her head, giggling nervously as she turned to the harried but still-smiling man, her expression suddenly apologetic as he placed the refilled container before her once more. "Um, sorry. I suppose I wasn't really counting."

He smiled without annoyance, and made as though to answer. Then abruptly he turned, glancing at what seemed a momentary disturbance at some little distance from the stall.

At the sudden movement, both girls turned to follow the direction of his gaze.

For a moment, they could see nothing. Then suddenly, people were moving hastily as though shoved aside, and a moment later a youth of perhaps sixteen burst from the mass of moving bodies, and stumbled frantically in their direction. For a second he looked wildly about as though at a loss, then spotting the two girls, he gave a cry of relief, and came pounding directly towards them.

For an instant both stared bewildered. Then Minako started, and waved.

"Urawa-san!" she shouted to him in astonished surprise, grinning and waving, forgetting in that moment that he would of course not remember her.

Then, even as she remembered and flushed in sudden embarrassment, he pelted the last few steps, and stumbled to a halt, panting for breath as he regarded them intently.

"Where…" he tried, then choked off, still gasping. "Where is she?" he managed at last. "I have to find her."

Minako and Makoto stared, taken utterly aback, both by the desperate urgency in his tone, and by the fact that he seemed to know them when it should have been impossible.

"How—" Minako began at last, half turning to help the stall's proprietor as he began to push her prizes into three large plastic bags.

But Urawa cut her off.

"No time!" he said, still panting. "I have to find Ami-chan! There''s something she has to know!"

"Whoa," Makoto tried to reassure him; "calm down. What on Earth's happened?"

But Urawa shook his head, the old easy warmth they remembered buried it seemed beneath a mask of frantic haste. "I can't explain now!" he said urgently. "Memory's been coming back for about a week, but I didn't remember everything fully till this morning. I knew…_saw_ you'd be here, and I've been looking everywhere. I'LL tell you everything later if I can, but now I have to find Ami-chan before it's too late! Please! If she's here…"

"She said something about the Science Hall," Makoto volunteered, shocked and bewildered, but with a sudden sense that this might indeed be important. Perhaps his powers had returned with his memory; perhaps he had seen something they needed to know.

She turned as Minako flashed the proprietor a quick smile of thanks, then spun back as Urawa thanked her quickly.

"The science hall?" he continued. "Of course! I'm an idiot for not going straight there. Thanks," he said again.

And before either of them could say more, he had turned and bolted headlong into the crowd.

"Come on!" said Makoto urgently. "We have to get to the bottom of this."

"Hey!" Minako cried, struggling to gather up her packages. "Mako-chan! Who's going to help me carry these!"

But Makoto had already disappeared.

"Damn!" Minako said feelingly as she fought with the bags.

She shot another quick smile of thanks to the bewildered proprietor, then turning she began to move as fast as her burdens would allow in pursuit.

"Mako-chan, wait up a minute!"

Cursing again she tried to move more quickly. Then abruptly she stumbled into someone, and sprawled headlong.

"Why don't you look where you're going?" An irritated and vaguely familiar voice began, then stopped short. "Minako-san?"

"Naru-chan?" Minako gasped a little dazedly, struggling to gather up her bags yet again while trying to stand at the same time.

Smiling suddenly, the other girl moved quickly to help her. "I didn't know you'd be here today, though I suppose I might have guessed. Is Usagi-chan here too? She didn't call."

There was a sudden momentary tightness in her voice, and a flash of pain in her eyes, quickly masked behind the return of her smile as she helped Minako with the last of the packages. "Um, what are you going to do with all these?"

"Yes she's here," Minako answered quickly, ignoring the second question in her haste. "Sorry Naru-chan; I'd really like to stop and talk, but Ie really have to find someone. Do you know where the science hall is?"

"I just left gurio-Kun there," she answered. "Is it Ami-san you're trying to find?"

"Her boyfriend…um, well sort of ex-boyfriend. He was in a real hurry to find her, and I told him that's where she would be. Mako-chan went after him but—"

"Come on then," Naru moved to take one of the bags. "It's not far."

Moments later they were hurrying through the milling crowd, Minako keeping up a quick pace, despite the people moving all about them. It was only a little later that they passed through the denser throngs, and she caught sight of the sign directing them towards her destination.

"Thanks Naru-chan," she smiled, reaching to take the last of her bags. "If you're looking for Usagi-chan—"

"She'll be where the food is; I know," Naru finished for her, a warm nostalgic smile flickering for a moment across her face.

She waved to Minako as the other girl hurried towards the entrance, then sighing she turned away, brushing for a moment at the wetness that seemed to hover at the corners of her eyes, before shrugging sadly, and moving swiftly in the opposite direction to the food stalls.

Minako spotted the two of them almost as soon as she entered the hall. Makoto was standing by a table that held a large glass fish-tank in which Minako caught glimpses of some unidentifiable creatures as they glided beneath the rippling surface of the water, while Urawa paced frantically back and forth, his eyes seeming fixed on a point near the hall's further end.

"Oy! thanks for giving me a hand!" Minako complained as she hurried towards them. "Where's Ami-chan?"

"She's…um…busy," Makoto pointed towards the sign that indicated the conveniences beyond the hall's further end. "This baka here was going to go charging right in there to talk to her."

"Hentai!" Minako exclaimed, turning to glare at Urawa in mock-indignation.

But he did not smile in return.

"Come on Ami-chan, come on!" he muttered urgently, seeming almost oblivious of the two girls, his expression darkening still more as he continued to watch the further entrance as though he might will her to appear.

"Look, what _is_ this all about!" Minako demanded, at last beginning to lose her patience as she stalked to stand directly before him.

Urawa opened his mouth as though to answer; and it was then that they heard the first screams begin.

"That," he said simply, his tone grim and final. "It's begun, and there's no more time."

And with that, he whirled away from them, and plunged with wild desperation into the suddenly panicked crowd.

* * *

Agony: an agony he knew, even through its haze, simply could not be.

For one impossible moment, this was all Vedris could know or understand as he stepped from High-lord Uranite's perfect gate, and into a sea of searing, soul-rending pain.

It had been a terrifying minute or two, from the moment he and Alaegra had been torn violently from their feeding by the frantic, wrenching pull of the call of the High Circle.

Racing desperately for the inner domain, they had reached the council chamber to find all six waiting, their faces as grim as they had ever seen them. Only then, as they listened in growing horror to High Lord Tellurite's urgent instructions, did they come to understand the unimaginable enormity of their situation.

"You have exactly half an hour," high Lord Tellurite had ended as the high-mage prepared the gate, and nodded to him that he was ready. "That is all we can give. If we hear nothing within that time, we must assume you are dead, or beyond our help. Understand also that there is to be no deviation of _any_ kind from the instructions you have been given. Make no mistake. Our future depends upon the success of this reconnaissance. Should you feel a need to indulge yourselves in pointless heroics, or a sudden desire for vengeance and so jeopardise our escape before the collapse, your reward, should you survive, shall both be swift and terminal. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, High Lord Tellurite-sama," Both had answered with a shudder, although the idea of engaging the dreadful wielder of the terrible crystal, let alone in their present condition, could not have been further from their minds. The few months since the fall were still too vivid in their memories for them to have any illusions concerning what would happen to them should they fall pray to some pointless quest for revenge.

"Very well," high Lord Tellurite had ended. "Go, and good luck. Uranite?"

The High Mage had gestured, and the gate, visible only to those at least latently sensitive to the subtleties of spatial manipulation, had appeared before them.

"Do not fail us," he had said simply.

And nodding, they had stepped forwards, and entered the shimmering portal.

All had been perfect until the very instant they had passed from the council chamber into what should have been a deserted Juuban alley. Then the outer edge of the gate, invisible even to High Lord Uranite's limited sight within the collapsing reality of the Kingdom, had twisted horribly, and Vedris had stumbled out into screams and light, and blazing, agonising torment.

* * *

"What! Where!"

It had been as always impossibly swift. In one moment Usagi was reaching for the ice-cream cone Mamoru was holding out to her. In the next, the screaming had begun. For one stunned instant the shock of the sudden spreading panic caught all three of them utterly by surprise. Then abruptly Rei was whirling wildly away, staring in gaping disbelief towards a building only twenty yards or so from where they stood.

"Youma!" she shrieked above the rising tide of pandemonium all around them. "Gods! How!"

"What!" Usagi almost screamed, trying to be heard over the sudden din. "But that's impossible!"

"I know the aura of a Youma, Usagi!" Rei snapped savagely in return, already turning wildly this way and that as she sought desperately for a place in which they could transform. "Quickly, the stand!" she screamed.

The others needed no further urging. In moments all three were racing wildly for the ice-cream stand, it having been vacated the moment its proprietor had heard the first of the screaming.

Diving desperately behind the concealing counter, the two girls burst forth a moment later in senshi form, Tuxedo Kamen only an instant behind them. Then they were standing atop the little kiosk, searching desperately for the source of the trouble.

"There!" Mars shouted, gesturing swiftly to a point less than twenty yards from their precarious perch. "Almost by the far end of the science hall. There's only one I think. Although how it survived undetected all this time, and what on earth it thinks it's trying to do—!"

"Let's worry about that later," Moon cried with uncharacteristic venom. "I'm sick of having every outing we arrange ruined by whatever enemy decides it's time to show up. Come on! This thing's moon-dust!"

With that, she leaped to the roof of a larger stand, the others beside her as they closed the distance with frantic speed.

* * *

The pain was inconceivable, beyond even the searing power that had turned his familiar world to ruin. Dimly he understood what must have happened; that somehow the Senshi must have been aware from the beginning, and had diverted the gate's exit-point beyond Juuban and the precious few miles protected by the capped mana-source that existed beneath its centre: the few miles in which a Youma could survive for any length of time without swift death brought about by mana starvation in the hostile environment of the mana-sealed Earth.

Screaming: fighting with everything he had to hold his leaking mana to him, and avoid immediate catastrophic disintegration, Vedris lashed out blindly, knowing it was in vain, pulling hopelessly with a savagery born of the terror of death and the darkness that lay beyond at the desperately-needed life-energy of the panicking humans that surrounded him, hoping that by some miracle he might gain enough to teleport back to the Kingdom before the last of his shielding broke down, and his body was torn apart by the mana-hungry Earth. He knew before he began that it was hopeless. Even should the Senshi not appear in the next few moments to kill him outright, he would not last another half-minute, let alone the frantic moments he would need to gather the energy to return unaided to his dying home.

Then the hated words reached him through his pain, and despairing, all-engulfing rage replaced all that he might have become, and nothing mattered but to try in his last moments to see the destroyers of the Kingdom pay in some small part for the ruin they had wrought. Where was Alaegra?

"Stop!" The dreadful voice seemed to overwhelm him with its malevolent hatred, and his last hope was gone. "A park is a place of—"

Through the haze of approaching oblivion Vedris saw the nemesis of his people, and releasing everything, his body already beginning to vanish around him, he hurled himself blazing towards her, his only thought to burn and rend and destroy. And something horrible and impossible lurched and twisted sickeningly in the fabric of reality around him, and in the next instant Vedris erupted in a brilliant blaze of flaring, shrieking mana gone insane, and chaos ruled supreme.

* * *

"Damn it; let us through!"

Makoto twisted violently, shoving a burly man aside as though he weighed nothing as she fought desperately to clear a path to the further entrance and the rooms behind, where they could transform unseen. It was no good. People were running pell-mell this way and that, most surging towards the nearer entrance and away from what seemed to be the centre of the panic, perhaps believing the hall on fire: the most likely reason for the screaming.

Both girls new better. Whatever it was, Urawa's frantic urgency had convinced them it was something with which the Senshi needed to deal.

"It's hopeless!" Minako shouted, using her bags to ward off yet another racing form.

"Get out! Get out!" he was screaming again and again as he tore passed them. "Oh Kami, something's trying to kill people back there! Out! Out!"

He raced on, his cries becoming half-incoherent as he barrelled through an electronics stand, and all but fell through the entrance, disappearing into the growing madness.

"To hell with this!" Makoto snarled, spinning out of the headlong rush, and diving towards an archaeological display and the relative concealment behind the heavy cases.

Minako was only a moment behind her, reaching concealment just as Makoto finished her transformation and shot to her feet.

"Venus Crystal," Jupiter heard Minako begin. then every sound was overwhelmed in a sudden shattering explosion.

Jupiter half turned, glimpsing for a moment Minako's lips moving as she completed her transformation phrase. Then a sudden blinding pillar erupted from the place in which Minako had been but a fractional instant before, and Jupiter heard her own voice scream.

Soaring, roaring with a thunderous howl, the golden column leapt up, punching straight through the steel and concrete of the roof of the hall as though they were nothing, the howl rising to a nerve-shattering scream, the very air seeming to turn to blazing fire in its wake as the screaming soared and waxed, until it seemed that it was all, and nothing else could be.

Stunned, half blinded and agonised, Jupiter stared stupidly at the maelstrom that should have been Venus's transformation. For one impossible moment, energy seemed to flare wildly around her, whilst at its roiling heart Jupiter thought she caught faint glimpses of Minako's writhing form, her body arched as though in agony, or rapture. Then, with a sickening tearing like tin-foil mixed with something horrible Jupiter never ever wanted to hear again, a fleeting something: a shadow, glimpsed but for a fractional instant, seemed to split from the surging vortex that was Venus, and Minako's voice screamed, a high keening sound: but of pain or pleasure or both, Jupiter could not tell.

Then it was gone, and the pillar was falling, plunging down and out; and Jupiter had but one instant to gape in stark, helpless terror, before it smashed into her, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, to send her hurtling up and away with the speed of a missile. Fortune alone saved her life, as the surging front of the blast smashed the glass and brickwork of the nearer side of the hall to powder, before sending her spiralling headlong into the screaming crowd. For a confused, giddying instant, lightning seemed to dance insanely about her as she whirled. Then something smashed into her from above, and the world exploded, disintegrating swiftly into tiny pin-points of brightness, until the blackness closed about her, and she knew no more.

* * *

"Oh _Kami_!"

Gaping, Mars stood transfixed, staring stupefied with Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Kamen as the youma literally exploded before their eyes, the shattering concussion pitching people headlong like leaves. Then they were leaping desperately clear as the front smashed the stand upon which they had been perched to kindling, and ploughed on, bringing down the ice-cream stand and too others before its energy was at last exhausted. Barely had it died when the rising thunder of a second explosion had them whirling, just in time to see the science hall erupt in a titanic pillar of golden light.

For a moment they froze, watching stupefied as people and debris were hurtled into the sky. Then the front struck them like a tsunami, and Mars found herself hurtling end over end, somehow impossibly held within the folds of Tuxedo Kamen's protective cape, while a sudden scream shrilled beside her: "It's burning! Oh _Kami-sama_! The Ginzuishou! It's _BURNING_!"

Mars turned her head, and her mouth opened in a silent rictus of terror as a light like the sun seemed to leap to engulf Sailor Moon at her side, her form blazing bright beyond endurance, before seeming to fracture, and dissolve before her eyes. She drew breath to scream; then they were slamming down upon the roof of another stand, and the dreadful illusion was gone as Sailor Moon's head came into sharp contact with her own, even as Tuxedo Kamen cried out in pain, having angled his body to take the worst of the impact.

For a moment, too stunned to move, Mars lay still. Then slowly she became aware of the near-silence that had taken the place of the thunderous noise of a moment before, a silence broken only by groans as people, impossibly unhurt in the twin blasts, dragged themselves dazedly to their feet and stared stupidly about, wondering how it was that they could still be alive, and thanking every god and goddess they could think of, before beginning to move slowly away. The festivities it seemed, were very definitely at an end.

"What…!" Was all Mars could manage, shivering from head to foot as she lay, still wrapped in Tuxedo Kamen's protective cape, uncertain as to whether she was imagining Moon's shaking at her side, or whether it was simply her own. "What _happened_!"

Tuxedo Kamen groaned softly, and shifted a little.

"Mars," he said quietly, his voice tightly controlled. "I don't wish to be discourteous, but do you think you might possibly refrain from moving on my arm? I don't think it will do the break much good."

"Mamoru!" she gasped, using his name in her agitation as she lurched convulsively into a sitting position. "Oh Kami; I'm sorry! How bad is it? Here, let me take Sailor Moon.

"Oy, Odango-Atama," she hissed, her voice far harsher than her anxious expression as she gathered her into her arms to lift her from atop Tuxedo Kamen's prone form. "Snap out of it, you baka! Tuxedo Kamen's hurt, and all you can do is lie there with your mouth open?"

"Uh…wha'?" sailor Moon moaned softly.

Then she groaned, and her eyes fluttered, trying for a moment to focus on Mars's face before turning to where Tuxedo Kamen lay.

"'nother fi' min'ts, Luna!" she muttered, still barely conscious. Then more clearly: "Darien? Wha'? Where?"

"Kami! Usagi; we haven't time for this!" Mars exclaimed with growing urgency, not comprehending the meaningless sounds she was making.

Tuxedo Kamen was trying to move, but another gasp of pain had Mars wondering whether a broken arm was the worst of his injuries.

For a moment, Sailor Moon remained, her eyes roving wildly. Then at a second cry from the prone form, she seemed to come at last to full awareness.

"Mars?" she gasped, her eyes fixing at last on Mars's increasingly agitated face. "Oh my head! What happened?"

"What!" Mars demanded, now frightened as well as anxious at the incomprehensible sounds. "Sailor Moon! Usagi! What are you babbling about?"

"What?" sailor Moon demanded in her turn, her eyes sharpening at last to fix intently on Mars's own, her expression suddenly confused and a little frightened. "Oosa-gee?"

And Mars saw: saw with the sudden certainty of the sight she possessed; and suddenly she was on her feet, her eyes blazing as she glared down at the thing before her: the horrible, unnatural thing in Sailor Moon's form.

"Who…_what_ are you?" she hissed, the power already gathering in her hands, ready to send this abomination to oblivion.

"What!" sailor Moon gasped, her eyes widening in sudden horror as she gazed helplessly at the sudden death in the eyes of her friend. "Mars…Raye! It's me! Sailor Moon! What's the matter with you? It's Serena!"

And Mars snarled, and let loose the fire.

** ** **

Notes:

** ** **

And that's that one out of the way. ^_^ Like Ch. 2, this was much more a general improvement than a complete rewrite. The main difference is the shift in emphasis and tremendously improved definition for the DK survivors, something that becomes very important later on.

The one problem, I believe, is the beginning; it still seems ridiculously melodramatic, but it's definitely a hell of a lot better than it was. Still, hopefully one more edit should do it, when I'm in the right frame of mind.

** ** **

* * *


	4. Book I: Part I: Chapter IV

As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

Disclaimer:

Own only original stuff; not doing this for profit; suing would be pointless.

* * *

"High-Lord Uranite-sama!"

At the sound of her voice, the high-mage turned, glancing for one brief moment from his frantic sealing of the last of the sub-space crystals that would hold the precious scrolls during their traversing of the gateway, as Kalleth rounded the doorway, and stumbled to a halt. For a moment she stood, eyes roving wildly as she gasped desperately for air, while in the distance, yet another low menacing rumble shook the stronghold, and Uranite shivered as yet more of the ruins of the realm were torn savagely from his perception, vanishing as though they had never existed, as the obliterating wave of oblivion surged ever nearer.

"They have not returned?" he said urgently, although he knew it to be a foolish question.

Even with the tearing pain of the failing of reality all about this last refuge, he, of all of them, should have felt the stirrings of the portal, had Vedris or Alaegra managed to re-enter the failing ruins of the Kingdom. It was possible perhaps that they were simply unable to teleport back, and were awaiting their arrival.

But Uranite doubted it. What little remained of the Kingdom (now little more than the stronghold itself) was stable still; his own powers would have warned him otherwise, and he could only assume either that they had taken it upon themselves to disobey: inconceivable given the desperate nature of their situation, or more likely, that the terrible Senshi had found them, and the two had fought, or been given no chance to explain.

He did not want to think about their chances should this last be the case, and should the dreadful wielder of the Ginzuishou be waiting for them when they stepped from the exit, and into the world once more. It would be a massacre, of that he had no doubt. Even by some miracle should they be able to gather the power needed to challenge her: an impossible hope, there was nothing left for them upon which to draw. The Earth's mana was bound and unreachable, and all the Senshi need do was wait until they tired, and they would have them, broken and helpless to do with as they chose. There was no hope in battle; nothing was more certain.

"High-Lord?"

Kalleth's urgent call brought him back from the black introspection, and he started, glancing quickly to her at his side.

"They have not returned High-Lord," she said again, her voice tight with barely restrained terror. "Are the scrolls ready?"

"As ready as I can manage," he answered, indicating the five gleaming-black crystals, each perhaps half the size of his clenched fist.

With desperate speed, Kalleth reached for them, catching them up and binding them close beneath her own silken wrap. Her master had entrusted her with a task of almost inestimable import, and she would die before she would allow the precious library to come to harm.

"You understand my instructions, Kalleth?" he said quickly, glancing once more about the home he had known for the few weeks since the cataclysm, in case something might have been overlooked. "No matter what may happen, you are to protect the library, and stay out of harm's way. Do I make myself clear?"

For one brief moment his steel-grey eyes held her own, and Kalleth shivered despite herself at the seldom-seen intensity of his power. He could and would destroy her should she fail, of that she was certain, and indeed she would have wished for no less. Yet even now, she was sure she caught a warmth and understanding beneath the fire, and she shivered again with a very different emotion, her pulse quickening and a flush coming to her face as she dropped suddenly to her knees before him.

"I shall guard the library with my soul, High-Lord," she said softly, her cat-slitted green eyes shining fiercely with sudden adoration as she gazed up into his face. "May it be taken by the terrible moon-queen herself should I fail."

"Very well," he said, gesturing her quickly to her feet. "But now, speed is of the essence. Are all gathered?"

"All save the scouts, High-Lord," she answered.

He nodded, and moved quickly to the door, pausing but for a moment to glance one last time about the chamber, before stepping out into the passage, Kalleth at his side.

From all about them came shouts and calls as youma raced hither and thither in a last desperate race to gather all they could take, the sounds of urgent voices interspersed with the crack of a teleport as those prepared and ready leaped into the great hall in the centre of the stronghold, most careless of the air they displaced, so desperate were they not to be left behind. Uranite reached briefly to Zeolite, confirming that the others were ready and waiting, catching the brief flicker of Tellurite's power as the warrior-commander reached to recall the scouts, even as Uranite prepared to leap to the hall. He felt their acknowledgment.

Then in the next instant a wave of agony crashed over him, and in the same moment a cataclysmic detonation split the air, and a brief terror smote him, slashed into nothing as those beyond the stronghold ceased to exist.

'By Metallia!' He flashed wildly to the others. 'It's here! We're out of time!'

Then he was running; not daring to leap, as reality lurched and groaned, while all about him, shouts turned to screams as panic took those still in the passages. Youma leaped blindly, some reaching the hall, others losing the coherence of the jump in their panic, and vanishing into the nothingness. Almost before them, Uranite saw a pretty humanic barely full-grown tense as though to leap, then turn suddenly inside-out, her ruined mouth opening in a petrified rictus of agony, a thin, horrible keening he was certain would haunt his darkest dreams for the rest of his days, filling the air before she exploded with a sickening tearing that left him wanting desperately to be sick.

Then another flash and crash thundered about them, and Uranite knew they could not reach the great hall on foot. From behind, a great thrumming began, a bone-deep, throbbing rumble that rose and waxed, until at last, with a cataclysmic roar and crash that shivered rock to splinters and struck youma in their dozens to the floor, the fabric of reality quaked and lurched, gaping suddenly wide like some hungry maw of nightmare.

For one terrible moment as Uranite and Kalleth looked back, the nothingness gaped wide before them, a window into a blackness of ruinous oblivion more absolute than the mind could hope to comprehend. And from the blackness something came: a bloated corruption of the very fabric of existence that writhed and quivered: a shapeless impossible something that surged and waxed, blazing with a lurid, livid fire: a blight that burned the very soul, and turned every sense to reeling, screaming madness, and every thought to horror and gibbering despair.

For Kalleth it was too much. Screaming: her mind on the knife-edge of breaking, she turned, fleeing wildly along the passage before her terror became too great even to run, and she leapt, vanishing in one last, hopeless lunge for the great hall, and a respite from the fear.

Fighting with everything he had, Uranite wrenched himself from his own paralysis, and catching her in mid leap, he directed her with his own reeling power, even as he fought to control his own senses enough to guide himself to a safe landing at her side.

A moment later both stood in the great hall, while beyond its bounds could be heard the screaming roar of ruin, as all that remained of the Kingdom erupted and vanished in twisting, howling nightmare and oblivion.

"Now! It must be now!" Uranite heard his own voice scream, even as he leaped to the dais and summoned the power needed to open the gate.

"But Vedris and—" Apatite began.

"You come with us now, or stay to die!" Uranite shouted, relief almost driving him to his knees as the gate flashed into being before him.

It was stable, and showed no signs of succumbing to the roiling madness about them.

"He's right; we have no choice, and no more time," Cried Tellurite. "Zeolite shall lead, then Cryolite, Apatite, and Halite in that order. If all is safe, don't wait for us; we'll be right behind you."

From beyond the hall came another crash. Then suddenly the great hall shuddered, despite its seals of protection, and the further wall groaned and shivered.

"_Go_!" Tellurite shouted.

And they obeyed; Zeolite leaping through the portal but a fractional moment before the tall, green-haired fighter followed on her heels.

"Good luck!" she cried, flashing a fierce smile even as she vanished.

Apatite wasted no time in following her sister.

Then Halite was gone, and the two were alone with the last of their people.

"Come! As quickly as you can! You first," Before Kalleth could understand what was happening, Tellurite had caught her up, and hurled her through the portal with her precious cargo. "And you," he continued, pitching a still barely-coherent Galenite after her. "Such potential as yours will be needed."

Then the youma were streaming for the portal, his presence alone preventing a wild panic as he held his power ready, prepared to kill in an instant any who dared start a stampede.

"Two-hundred; two-hundred-and-fifty," he counted to himself; "come on! come on! Faster!" he shouted. "Time is desperately short. Move!"

As though to emphasise his point, the thrumming roar grew to a sudden terrible crescendo. Then a piercing scream had him whipping in the direction of the further wall.

For a moment he stared aghast as the rock reeled and rippled like molten wax. Then with a cataclysmic crack it opened before his staring eyes, and Tellurite saw, and wrenched himself wildly away.

For most who looked into the abomination beyond, it was the end, their sanity deserting them in an instant, high keening shrieks of madness tearing from suddenly gaping mouths as the incomprehensible horror robbed them of reason, and they leapt blindly, vanishing to the last into the nothingness beyond the confines of their shattered reality.

For some few able to bear the sight, they turned, driven almost to quaking, fighting with all they possessed to hold themselves upon the knife-edge of reason, knowing only too well what would happen should they falter and plunge into the infinite madness of splintering oblivion.

"Come!" Tellurite's voice thundered suddenly above the roar and scream of ruin. "All who are able; follow!"

And with that, he leapt into the portal, Uranite only an instant behind him.

Immediately the gate began to quiver; while youma, released of the cohesive presence of their commanders, fought with savage desperation for a place within the diminishing passage to escape. For a few precious seconds it held, while some few sensible enough to band together, hacked and fought their way to freedom. Then with a last cataclysmic crack it burst asunder, riven into splinters, even as youma screamed and fought like wild animals in a last hopeless race.

With a screaming roar, the seals, strained beyond endurance, flashed and exploded in a howling, shrieking eruption of magic gone mad, and the last tiny fragment of the Dark Kingdom broke and plunged down into the hungry maw into

nothingness.

Still screaming, youma were hurtled into the gaping abyss, some bursting instantly into flame, others turning to water or stone or hideous, nightmare parodies of themselves: body and mind, before splintering and fracturing into shrieking phantoms that dissipated swiftly, their agonised screams dying to faint echoing cries of despair, as their riven souls perished in the impossibility of the nothingness beyond understanding. And at last, even the void shrank, bubbling and snarling, until with a final hiss, the emptiness itself collapsed, and ceased to exist.

And in the nothingness beyond the foundations of reality: in an emptiness of matter and of thought beyond dream or imagination, something stirred, vague and ill-defined: the barest splinter of a phantom thought: the faintest echo of the rage and frustration of an anima of an impossible hope, that shuddered, writhing upon the knife-edge of existence; until of a sudden, it started, sensing by some dreadful chance beyond fate the cataclysmic shattering of the Dark Kingdom; and it slipped the moorings of its creator's mind, reached, and was real.

Laughter came then: a low purring that rippled and writhed, as the thing that was an abomination beyond pain or terror or the darkest nightmares of the vilest fiend of any hell, swirled and coalesced, until at last she stood, tall and terrible, cloaked and hooded in deepest night, her long hair swirling about her like a curtain of living fire: eyes like emerald chips, stabbing frigid and merciless from a face to rend the soul, and set reality itself to quaking. And she was ruin and oblivion beyond the last end of hate; and to her, it was good.

"Mine!" The word was soft, a hungry, purring snarl of ruin and seduction to turn the mind to madness, and the soul to broken, gibbering obedience: a promise that rippled and shivered to the uttermost reaches of the emptiness. "Mine, for ever. For with me begins hate and ruin till the uttermost end of oblivion; and they shall hear, and scream."

Reaching with senses attuned to perfection to the emptiness, she touched and caressed, reshaping it with subtle care so that it might make from whomever should dare enter her domain, the tools by which she might realise her desire; and she smiled the smile of damnation as she felt them swirl and coalesce: two already powerful enough to be of service: another nearly so, while the last was barely a flicker, created of a mind with little cause to hate. But that would change.

With savage eagerness she reached to draw them to her; and gasped as the truth of their presence, and of the connection of one of them to her became clear in a blinding flash of understanding.

Then she laughed again, a low purr of ruinous delight that rose and waxed, until at last the very foundations of the emptiness shivered and trembled, as in a moment the completion of her desire, and the means by which it could be realised was revealed to her.

"Come!" The command shivered the blackness, thundering about her, even as they sensed her kinship, and turned, racing fiercely towards her. "Come, and take your rightful places as my own, and the instruments of my desire. Come, and hate!"

And suddenly helpless to resist, they came. And in that moment, the ruin of all that was or that could be, was begun.

** ** **

Darkness Chronicles  
An anime-Manga Cross-over

** ** **

Book I:  
Part I: The Gathering  
Chapter IV:

** ** **

The first thing Johnathan knew was that he was shivering violently with cold.

For a space he remained on the boarders of oblivion, numb and only half aware, with no memory of where he was, or how he might have come to be there. Then the pain hit him: a dull, relentless ache of numbing, frozen ice, and he gasped and opened his eyes.

He was lying sprawled, half on his back, half on his left side. A sullen glow seemed to fill the frigid emptiness around him: a diffuse luminescence, stark and chill, that seemed to come from no clear direction, and that was little more than a diminution of the blackness of unconsciousness. The substance beneath him was cold and black as pitch, and hard as though wrought of frozen stone.

Johnathan moaned and struggled to move, every muscle aching with a bone-deep chill. Slowly and painfully he scrambled to his hands and knees; then, with every muscle screaming in protest, he struggled at last to his feet.

"What! Where!" he gasped.

HE was standing on a flat, featureless blackness that seemed to stretch in every direction as far as the eye could see. A thick, clinging fog, defined only by its swirling whiteness and the heaviness of the air, hung to the ground about him, and he could make out nothing further than a few inches beyond his outstretched hand. In any direction he turned the sight that met his staring eyes was exactly the same. Above him, the cold, stark light seemed to fill all the sky, coming from no source, and illuminating little.

Johnathan stood still and shivering, staring about him in numb incomprehension.

"Am I dead?" he gasped softly to himself.

His voice echoed and reverberated unnervingly in the heavy whiteness, as though in some vast enclosed space, rather than falling dead as he might have expected. Yet there was no other sound, save for the faintest whispering of the fog.

For several seconds more he remained, trying desperately to reconcile any recollection with his current situation.

Then abruptly, memory came flooding back to him with terrifying intensity: the hideous nightmare, and all that his terrible awakening had precipitated.

For a moment, numb horror seized him. He was dead, and this was Limbo or purgatory: his punishment for some misdemeanour of which he would very soon be told.

Then he became aware of his racing heart and quick, shallow breathing, and he wondered. Would he still be breathing if he were dead? Were the dead somehow given the illusion of life, the better to bring home to them the hopelessness of their situation? But if not…

"Hello?" he called tremulously into the nothingness, desperate to hear any sound other than the barely-perceptible sighing of the slowly swirling fog. "Is anyone there?"

But no answer came, save for the faltering, dying echoes of his own small voice and the ghostly whisper of the fog.

"I say!" he tried again, his voice trembling. "Hello?" Then abruptly, with a little anger despite his fear: "Look! if this is someone's idea of a joke, it's not funny!"

But it was no good.

For a space he could not define, he remained, still and shivering, while the slow, creeping horror seemed to fill the void around him, and he did not dare to move.

Yet at last, reason began to reassert itself. Whatever his situation, he could not simply stand here until he starved or died of cold, assuming he was not dead to begin with.

Suddenly decided, he turned, staring about him with greater purpose. But even had there been no fog, he would have been able to see little without his hated, but necessary glasses. As it was, his short-sightedness meant that he was all but blind.

"Damn it! Damn it!" he muttered furiously, anger at yet another reminder of his constant need for the spectacles overwhelming his fear.

He hesitated for another moment. Then, picking a direction at random (after all, one seemed as good as any other), he began to move forwards. Yet the world around him remained utterly unchanging, and at last he halted again.

"Damn this!"

With sudden explosive fury, he lashed out with a foot, and impacted something soft.

"Itai!" something, or rather, someone screamed.

In the next instant, Johnathan's foot was wrenched from under him, and something shot at him and slammed him down.

"Oof!" Was all he could manage.

Then he was flipped over on his back, and a figure, barely seen in the gloom, was astride him, pinning his arms and legs.

"All right, whoever you are. Just wha'd'ya think you're doing? And who are you, and where are we, if it comes to that?"

"Wha! Le'go!" Johnathan protested, wheezing and gasping as he tried to force air back into his tortured lungs.

The voice that had addressed him was undoubtedly female, and Johnathan was suddenly very aware of how close the unknown girl was. Immediately, he began to panic in his usual fashion, all ability to form coherent speech leaving him.

"I don't… I mean, if you could… Would you… That is… Um, I…"

"Kami!" he heard the girl mutter to herself, "what an idiot!

"Listen", she demanded; "is all this your fault? Because if it is, I'm gunna take you apart! But first, I'll ask you again; just where are we?"

But all Johnathan could do was to open and close his mouth stupidly while no sound came, until at last his assailant reached to slap him painfully on the face.

The blow, apparently intended only to snap him out of his daze, nevertheless made stars dance before his eyes, and Johnathan was certain he could taste blood.

"Ahgh! Oy!" he cried, the pain at least going so far as to shock some sense back into him. "What in God's name…! That hurt!"

"So, you _can_ actually talk properly then?" the girl commented with a touch of mingled sarcasm and amusement. Then, when Johnathan made no answer: "Well?" she demanded, "you gunna answer my question?"

"What!" Johnathan shot back in his turn. Then, understanding at last what she meant, he continued angrily: "No; of course it's not my fault; I've just myself woken up here! And I've no idea where we are! L-l-let me up for heaven's sake!"

With a "hmph!" of annoyance, the girl released him, and Johnathan scrambled to his knees, then at last to his feet.

He turned, peering short-sightedly at the girl, trying hopelessly in the fog and the pale, waxen glow to make sense of what he saw.

"Oy! What're you staring at, you hentai?" she demanded.

"Wha'! Hentai?" Johnathan replied, startled. "Just a minute; are you Japanese?"

"You got a problem with that?" said the other caustically. "No," she continued, her tone more sarcastic by the second; "'course I'm not Japanese. That's why I talk Japanese, because I'm Chinese. Pretty common, that; didn't you know?"

"Well, if you're talking Japanese, then so am I," Johnathan rejoined just as sarcastically.

"Well, what do you think you're talking then!" countered the girl hotly; "the cow language? Moo!!! Moo!!!" she added pointedly in a pretty fair imitation for effect. "Kami! What kind of crazy baka are you?"

"What! Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Johnathan, his quick temper flaring in his turn. "I'm talking English of course, you idiot; just like you!"

"Yeah?" the other answered in a shout, her clenched fist suddenly a hair's breadth from Johnathan's nose, while a faint blue glow seemed suddenly to emanate from around her. "Well, I got news for you! I ain't never learnt more than a few words of English in my life, so it ain't likely I'm about to start talkin' it now, is it! And who're you calling an idiot, you crazy hentai?"

"And who do you think you're calling a hentai?" Johnathan's own voice was rising steadily.

"And if you're talkin' English, how d'you know what Hentai means?" the other demanded with still greater volume.

"Simple!" Johnathan answered, now shouting at the very top of his small voice. "Because I watch a lot of Anime and read Manga."

"Which is where you learnt Japanese, I suppose?" the other sneered. "Yeah; sure! Pull the other one; it rings like a temple bell!

"I don't know what's going on," she ended contemptuously, "but I ain't wastin' any more time with some crazy, Japanese-talkin' gaijin who's obviously escaped from somewhere. I got'a find a way out'a here!"

With that, she whirled away from him, staring about her as though seeking some point of reference from which to start.

Suddenly panicked at the thought of being alone again in this place in the near-dark and the frigid, whispering fog, Johnathan fought down his temper as best he could, until at last, just as the girl seemed to have chosen a direction, Johnathan stirred.

"All right. All right." he said, his tone as reasonable as he could manage. "This is no good! Shouting at one another isn't going to get us anywhere. You say you're talking Japanese; right?"

"Haven't I told you that about a dozen times?" the other snapped in answer, still assuming it seemed either that he was mad or the biggest idiot in history.

"Will you just listen for a minute!" Johnathan said, his own small voice raised again. "Look; if you think you're talking Japanese, and I think I'm talking English, then there can't be too many explanations. Either we've both suddenly learnt each other's language perfectly, and don't know it, something's translating what each of us is saying to one another, or we're not really talking at all.

"Or we really are dead after all," he ended to himself with a shiver. "which might make sense.

"All right" he said; "let's try this. Say something, slowly, and I'll try really to listen to what I'm hearing."

"'Something, slowly, and I'll try really to listen to what I'm hearing'," the girl parroted with a smirk that Johnathan couldn't see. "That good enough?"

"Oh, very funny!" said Johnathan, his own temper flaring again. "You're a laugh a minute!

"Still, I think we might actually be getting somewhere, you know" he continued far more thoughtfully. It's strange, but now truly that I'm paying attention, Whatever I heard then, it wasn't English, even though I understood it. But I can't quite…

"Right," he continued with sudden purpose, a touch of excitement in his tone. "Now, if I say…hmm…you're a crazy baka!"

"Hey!" the other shouted. "At least I'm not a little hentai like you. If you want me to do this, how 'bout not being insulting; right?"

"All right; sorry. But what did you hear, blast it?" Johnathan insisted.

"I heard…" The girl was silent for a moment. Then she exclaimed softly: "You're right, you know! It's weird! I can't repeat what you said; I mean, I can, but not as you said it. But I do know it wasn't Japanese, apart from 'baka', that is. And you didn't pronounce that quite right. And what you said does sound sort'a like the English we do at school. I mean, I know a few words from there, and a few more from all the years of training everywhere with Oyaji; although the things I heard then was usually swearing directed at him for stealing food, or tryin' to get away with not payin' for something. And it did sound sort'a like that, but more…I don't know; like I suddenly really _felt_ what those words mean, without quite being able to hear them. This is crazy!"

Johnathan nodded. "Exactly!" he agreed, his excitement now obvious. "That's _exactly_ what it is! You _feel_ what the words mean; but somehow more. The longer I listen, the more I can really _hear_ the sounds as another language, and understand what you're saying from those sounds, rather than doing a sort of subconscious English translation. It's fascinating!"

" Yeah; you're right!" the girl agreed. "The more I really listen, the more I can _hear_ that you're not speaking Japanese, and the more it sounds like English, but somehow different…no, _better_ than what I've heard."

"Same for me," Johnathan agreed. "At least, regarding the first part of what you said. I know…_knew_ so little Japanese, that I can't really comment on it sounding _better_."

"But this is crazy!" said the girl. "I've had some weird things happen to me in my life: yesterday was pretty high up there, but how can we just suddenly understand what each other's sayin', just like that! And why didn't we notice it straight away?"

"Well," said Johnathan uncertainly, "it could be that it's a function of this place, and that we're becoming more attuned to it, the longer we stay. Or it could be that each of us has had the other's language…well…crammed into his mind at such a subconscious instinctive level that we only began to notice it when we started to pay attention. Probably that's what _would_ happen. After all, you don't exactly listen usually to see why you can understand what someone's saying to you; it's simply instinct. It's interesting too that, although we can understand one another, it seems we can't speak the other's language; at least, not yet. I'd say though that probably it wouldn't take very long to learn: probably just a matter of getting used to forming the sounds, and learning to think in both.

"Anyway: however all this is possible, the real question is: where are we?

"Oh, by the way, I'm Johnathan. And please, that's not John, or Johnny, or anything like that; all right? Johnathan O'Reilly."

The girl nodded. "Saotome Ranma, heir to the Saotome school of indiscriminate grappling," she said, shaking, and nearly crushing Johnathan's suddenly limp hand.

"What!" Was all Johnathan could gasp. Then he simply stood and gaped.

"Hey, you all right in there?" Ranma-chan demanded in alarm, after several seconds in which he continued simply to stand and stare at her in numb disbelief. "You're not going all weird again, are you?"

"You… You can't…!" Johnathan managed faintly at last, utter incredulity warring with a sudden irrational hope and amazed excitement. "It's… It's not possible!"

Ranma-chan remained watching him, more confused with every second.

"I'm not… Tell me I'm not dreaming this!" Johnathan gasped at last.

"Not unless it's a dream we're sharin'," Ranma-chan answered drily. "And I could think of a hell of a lot better things I'd rather be dreamin' about than to be stuck somewhere cold and foggy with some crazy Gaijin, who looks like he's just seen a ghost!

"What's the matter with you, all of a sudden? I thought we'd got passed all the weird, and into straight-out impossible by now."

"Oh we have; believe me, we have!" Johnathan answered. "This is… I can't believe it!

"All right," he continued after a space in which Ranma-chan continued to gaze at him without speaking. "Assuming I'm not dreaming, dead, or mad…

"You're Ranma Saotome; correct? Son of Genma and Nodoka, engaged to Akane Tendo, one of the three daughters of Soun Tendo; the others being Kasumi and Nabiki?"

"What!" Ranma-chan demanded, astounded in her turn. "How d'you know all that? And it's family name _first_ by the way; baka gaijin! And your pronunciation is _really_ terrible!"

"Just tell me if I'm making any mistakes," Suddenly, Johnathan was almost babbling, nearly incoherent with sudden leaping excitement, utterly heedless of Ranma-chan's growing alarm and burgeoning suspicion. "You're also engaged to Uk…hmm…I mean, Kuonji Ukyou; your father did that for her father's yatai. And Shampoo thinks you're married to her because you defeated her in the Amazon village; and Kod…Kuno Kodachi is after you; and Kuno Tatewaki is after you're cursed form; and—"

But he got no further.

Almost before he knew what was happening, Johnathan found himself flat on his back again, with the enraged Ranma-chan astride him once more. This time however, her look was very far from friendly.

"All right!" she said in a low, warning growl, the blue glow of her battle-aura visible even in the clinging whiteness of the fog. "Start talking! Just how do you know any of this? Just who are you?"

"You…didn't…have…to do…that!" Johnathan wheezed, all the air driven out of his lungs for the second time in nearly as many minutes, but the shock returning him also to his senses.

"It's quite simple," he said a good deal more calmly at last, when he could speak without gasping. "I told you I'm interested in Manga and Anime. In my world, you're not real; that is to say: you're a manga and Anime creation of Rumiko Takahashi.

"But how we could be here, in the same place…" he ended half to himself, sudden returning unease replacing the euphoria of moments before.

But Ranma-chan was gaping at him in incredulous disbelief of her own.

"Nani!" she managed at last. "No way. As in Urusei Yatsura? You _really_ are crazy, aren't you!"

Abruptly, she hand-sprung off his stomach, causing another: "Oof!", and landed on her feet.

"All right," she said simply; "that's it! You can stay as another crazy part of this crazy place, for all I care. I'm leaving."

"Wait!" Johnathan tried to shout. "Listen to me! I'm telling you the truth. How else could I know so much about you?"

"Who knows?" said Ranma-chan. "Perhaps you're something the Old Pervert's cooked up. Perhaps I'm dead, like you said you might be. Oh yeah; I heard you say that. Or perhaps that kawaikunee tomboy hit me again, and all that crazy day yesterday was all just part of some weird dream, and I'm really still unconscious. I dunno, and if you want the truth, I don't care. Whatever it is, I've had enough. I'm gettin' out; now."

"Please, Ranma," Johnathan cried, not understanding, but sensing suddenly with an urgent, leaping fear that he had to make her stay. "for once don't just go crashing through everything. It won't work. I don't know how I know this, but this is different. We shouldn't, we _can't_ be in the same reality. It's impossible; truly impossible. I know I was behaving like a fool before, and I'm sorry. But I think something's gone terribly, horribly amiss, and that's why we can both be here. Something's gone wrong, and this isn't funny any more."

"No; sorry," said Ranma-chan simply. "I've learnt you don't go foolin' around with weird places unless you have to, or unless you _really_ know what you're doin'. And I don't need to know why I'm here, or why you're here, or even how I can understand what you're saying. What I have to do is to find a way home if there is one, and as quickly as I can. So, sorry about this, but I'm getting out'a here, and if you want to go wanderin' about, trying to find out what all this is about, then you can go right ahead. But you'll be doing it without me! I'm going home."

"And how exactly do you plan to start?" Johnathan demanded. "Look around us. Everything looks the same. There are no stars; no landmarks; nothing you could use as a reference. What exactly are you going to do; pick a direction and simply start walking in the hope you might find something eventually? That's about the best way to end up going in circles; in fact, that's exactly what _will_ happen. Haven't you ever read anything about people who get lost in deserts? You can't hold a straight line without a reference; I don't see even how _you_ could do that, Ranma, without _something_ to go on.

"We don't know how we got here, or whether it was by accident or design. We don't know even where 'here' is, or anything about the nature of this place. Who knows; perhaps it's a four-dimensional curve, and any attempt to travel in a particular direction will simply bring you right back to where you started. We don't know even whether there _is_ a way out. Our only hope is to stay together, and try to find out something about where we are, and why."

"You mean, you don't want to be on your own," said Ranma-chan coolly. "You're scared."

"All right; what about it!" Johnathan flared. "Don't tell me you're not, even just a little, because I won't believe you."

"You wanna try and prove that?" Ranma-chan said dangerously, cracking her knuckles.

Johnathan bit back a retort before it got him a fist in the mouth.

"I don't want to fight you, Ranma; I wouldn't last a second. I'm trying only to make you understand. Our best chance is to keep together. If we can—"

But suddenly he broke off, sure suddenly that he had heard something.

"Did you—" he began.

But a sudden, urgent "shh!" from Ranma-chan had him choking into silence.

A moment later, both started as a clear call of: "Ranma? Ranma, is that you?" echoed towards them.

In the next instant, a figure came plunging out of the fog.

"Baka!" A furious female voice shrieked, seeming caught half-way between rage and tears. "There I was, wasting my time worrying myself sick about what could have happened to you, and you've just been standing here, not even trying to look for me!"

In the next instant, Johnathan winced as he heard a dull thud, then Ranma-chan groaning as she collapsed in a heap on the hard, frozen blackness that was the ground.

"BAKA! BAKA! BAKA! BAKA! _BAKA_!" the girl, whose behaviour left him in little doubt as to who she must be, wept as she pounded her fiance again and again. "I thought you were dead, you jerk! I thought that baka curse of yours had finally killed you!"

"Um… Excuse me, but if you keep hitting her like that, you might well be right," Johnathan ventured tentatively, wincing at each successive thud.

As if noticing him for the first time, Akane stopped pounding on Ranma-chan, and turned to face him. Beside her, Ranma-chan groaned again, then began to stir.

"Kawaikunee!" she muttered, then slumped back into unconsciousness.

"Who are you?" Akane demanded, glaring at Johnathan with the mallet already raised.

Johnathan shuddered. Ranma, and perhaps everyone in his reality might inherently be able to take punishment like that, but he was certain that a single blow from that thing would split his skull like an eggshell.

"Wait, for heaven's sake!" he cried, raising both hands. "My name is Johnathan O'Reilly, and I'm from a world where that thing would probably be considered a deadly weapon."

And with that, he began to explain as best he could.

* * *

Someone was going to be _very_ sorry for this; she would make very sure of that, if it took her the rest of eternity. She would hunt down Gemma Renée's miserable, twisted little excuse for a ghost or soul, or whatever psychopathic little bitches like her possessed, and tear it to screaming, quivering ribbons: hers, and that of every last piece of underworld pig-swill who had been in her pay. To be killed by such an unbelievably stupid case of simply filthy luck!

She was dead: she had no doubt of that. Although the frigid, featureless void all about her, with its sullen light and icy, clinging fog, was not exactly her idea of the afterlife. Had she been so irredeemable?

For a moment, a sudden bitterness, touched nonetheless with wry amusement twisted her lips in a thin, half-smile. It was what she might have expected from whomever was responsible for the universe. What else? God (or whoever was in charge of this place) was going to get a piece of her mind he would never forget, when she had finished with that little drug-dealing whore, assuming she ever found her way out of here. God, Satan, the Morrigan, Kami-sama; name them! If they wanted a fight, she would only be too happy to oblige, and with a lot of interest. And if anyone had the curiously misguided notion that she would be staying here…

She continued to walk, something she had been doing now for nearly an hour. There was no point in staying where she was until she froze. She had laughed at that thought. Could you freeze to death after you were dead?

The terrain was, of course, the same featureless void in all directions, but whatever had landed her here had reckoned without either her determination, or a unique intuitive ability when it came to direction, amongst other things. As much as any other talent she had ever displayed, Hideo-sensei had been astounded by this unique ability to hold a perfect line and navigate a complex course, even cut off from all her senses.

The clinging, smothering fog, and the bizarre way sound seemed to echo and reverberate in this place as though in some vast yet definable space, was doing its best to confound her. But she knew herself to be going in a dead straight line. She could also see better than most in this pea-soup.

Just let anything come at her out of the nothingness, and she would have it very sorry it had tried before she was finished, or go down with her blades, and then her fingers, nails and teeth in its throat, if nothing else was left.

It was curious how her clothes and her tiny blades had followed her to the afterlife, yet the semi-automatic she had taken had not. But then, why not? Perhaps they were a projection of her own soul. That was fine with her, and made a certain, strange sense.

She shivered. The unrelenting cold was beginning to seep into her, despite her brisk pace. With a furious gesture, she yanked her loosening coat tighter to her, and refastened the buttons yet again. At least her soul-self might have had the courtesy to fix the worn button-holes.

She had tried concentrating on altering her clothes: then the fog, or anything else regarding her situation, but it seemed plain that whoever was running this place, they intended their domain and her situation to remain beyond her ability to change.

"M'hmm," she had acknowledged simply, her frigid smile a promise. "We'll play it your way then, shall we? At least until I find you. Then you can start explaining, or you can start making other sounds made more generally when in a great deal of pain; whichever you prefer."

She shivered again. The top button simply would not stay fastened, and she was not dressed for this. She had worn the coat that morning, only because it had been raining when she had left for school.

"You've made a very big mistake, you know," she said almost conversationally, the underlying threat in her deceptively equable tone more palpable with every word. "Whoever you are; when I find you, you'll regret it, you do realise that, don't you?

"Well?" she erupted suddenly at the very top of her lungs, her scream nonetheless never losing its half-conversational touch . "I'm becoming decidedly unfriendly, not to mention increasingly homicidal. I'd come out now, if I were you, before I have to come looking."

But her only answer were the impossible echoes of her own voice, dying at last to silence.

Then suddenly there came another sound, whispering and reverberating in the emptiness, almost at the very edge of hearing: the faintest suggestion of a whimper.

Pulling quickly to a halt, she stood still, listening intently. It was nearly impossible to pin-point the source in the echoing void. But at last, certain she could retrace her steps and continue in the direction she had been walking should this turn out to be some kind of trick, she began quickly towards the faint, whimpering cries.

It was, as she had expected, very suddenly that the figure came into view through the blanketing fog. A moment later she had halted and stood, looking down at a small shape curled up tight into a ball in a single fluffy blanket, a head of blonde hair virtually all that could be seen. For a moment she thought it was a child. Then, as the figure became aware of her and the head lifted a little, she saw as the blanket half fell aside, that it was a girl, perhaps in her mid teens, although dressed absurdly in a ridiculously childish fashion in fluffy nightclothes, and with her hair done up like a child half her age.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" she demanded, none too gently, the initial impulse that would have seen her reach out to comfort a much younger girl vanishing beneath her natural tight control as she glided effortlessly into a fighting stance, the edgy menace that was so much a part of her nature falling like a cloak about her as she tensed, ready for any sudden movement. "Perhaps when you've stopped all that racket, you might like to tell me who you are, and what you're doing here? Where here is would also be a good start."

Whoever the girl might be, she was almost disappointed it had not been the sociopathic little bitch she would have been more than happy to find. She was just in the right mood to vent her growing rage.

Slowly the figure uncurled herself, lifting her head still more, and turning a tear-streaked face fully towards her.

For a moment she stared in return, the sudden unreasoning certainty that she had seen that face somewhere before so intense that she remained frozen. But she could not place the memory, and at last she shook her head, and stirred as though to say more.

"Eiko?" the figure whimpered before she could speak, a hopeful smile beginning to touch her mouth.

Then her face fell once more. "No; you're not Eiko. Where's Eiko. I want Eiko!"

Immediately, she fell into full-fledged crying, her face screwed up, and her eyes streaming tears.

"What!"

For a few numb seconds, the other simply gaped at her, for once too stunned and thunderstruck to do anything else.

Then abruptly she threw back her head and laughed, a cold clear laugh of sardonic amusement that filled the fog with a myriad of echoes, as though the void around them were sharing in the joke. No wonder the girl had seemed so familiar.

"Oh, superb! Absolutely superb!" she said at last, her tone dripping with wry amusement and contempt. "This is just perfect! Not only do I die in the most absurd case of idiotic bad luck, but my first afterlife companion turns out to be a manifestation of the worst nuisance in the history of creative insanity. This just couldn't be better!"

Then suddenly her face was ice.

"Unless, of course," she purred, her low, frigid contralto abruptly very far from amused, "you know something I don't? In which case, you're unlikely to know _anything_ for much longer.

"Well?"

For answer, the huddled figure (whom she had to acknowledge did indeed resemble very much how the Anime Kotobuki C-ko might look were she brought to life, impossible though that could be) simply cringed down in the big fluffy blanket, and began to wail all the harder.

"Oh, this _has_ to be someone's idea of a very bad joke," she growled under her breath.

"When you've _quite FINISHED_!" she snapped aloud, suddenly at the end of her patience.

But the noise continued unabated, and at last she lowered herself to bring her face a good deal closer to the girl's.

"Right," she continued almost conversationally, her voice suddenly very low and unnervingly reasonable, with just the right amount of feral menace lurking just below the surface to leave no one but an idiot in any doubt as to the fact that it would be a very bad idea to push her further. "I think we need to understand one another. That is _extremely_ annoying, I'm feeling particularly homicidal just at the moment, and I've just about reached the point at which taking a Lepton princess apart, piece by piece to see how long it takes me to find which particular piece keeps her making such a hideous, God-awful racket, is becoming an extremely attractive proposition. Have I made myself sufficiently understood?"

By the time she had finished, the threat in her low, purring tone could not have been more palpable.

But the effect was not at all what she had expected. Immediately, the crying became a sudden piercing, ear-splitting wail, interspersed with: "Eiko! Eiko; help! She's going to do something _horrible_ to me! Eiko; _pleeeeeeeease_!"

Stunned despite herself at the unimaginable volume for someone so small, the other nonetheless found herself thinking grimly that she should have anticipated exactly this reaction. If the girl really was Kotobuki Shiko, or rather some bizarre phantom conjured up perhaps from her own memories by this place or its designer, then any threat was likely to make her more difficult, rather than the reverse.

Putting a savage hold on her seething fury, she shook her head, finding herself wondering despite everything how on earth A-ko could stand this for any length of time without strangling her.

It was at about this point that she realised that something else was amiss with the situation. It had been niggling at the edge of her awareness ever since C-ko had spoken. Now suddenly it became evident; the girl was not speaking in English.

She knew little Japanese, save for the few phrases she had picked up from Hideo-sensei; despite her exposure to certain Manga and Anime and the related arcade games based on some of the more popular OVAs, the Anglicisation Programme throughout the Empire meant that like everything, they were almost invariably fully translated. Yet listening more closely to the occasional words scattered amongst C-ko's wailing, she was shocked to realise that the girl was most certainly speaking what sounded very much like Japanese, and that more astounding still, she could understand every word.

She could appreciate that some dreams could give the illusion of foreign languages; she had experienced that several times. But this was different. She was understanding C-ko's choked pleading with the same instinctive ease as though the girl were speaking English or Irish-Gaelic, and suddenly a quite different appreciation of the situation took hold of her.

It seemed inconceivable, yet was it just possible that this girl was indeed Kotobuki Shiko: that somehow, beyond death, she had crossed some boundary into an afterlife concurrent with that of a true Project A-ko universe? She would have dismissed the idea out of hand, or at least as being far less likely than a myriad of other possibilities. But the question of her sudden Japanese comprehension (and that of Shiko for English, since plainly the girl could understand her as easily as she could Shiko) could not be ignored.

Then how far did that comprehension extend?

Listening closely, she tried to form words and think in the Japanese C-ko was speaking. But try as she might, she could not quite manage it, even though she could understand the words, and translate them perfectly to herself. Still, she felt that she was close. Probably it would only be a matter of time, and very little time at that.

But for now, there were more important things about which to worry. First and foremost, she had to stop the girl screaming loud enough to wake the dead; or at least, she thought wryly, bring other dead.

Quickly, she moved closer to her, slipping a blade unobtrusively into her other hand, ready to attack at the slightest sign that things were not, after all, as they appeared. C-ko however simply continued to wail and cry for Eiko, until at last she reached down, and despite her intense dislike of close contact, laid a hand gently on the girl's blonde hair.

"I'm not going to be able to help you if you don't stop crying," she said, pitching her voice carefully to a quiet, controlled calm.

There was a catch in C-ko's sobbing. Then the head lifted slowly, and large tear-filled eyes fixed on her face.

"Y-y-you're not g-g-going t-t-t-to h-hurt me?" C-ko sniffled.

"I don't remember making any promises," she answered carefully, although she kept her voice calm and reasonable. "But if you're who you say you are, and if you promise to stop making such an appalling racket, I'd say you're fairly safe; all right?"

"And…and you'll h-help me find Ei-Eiko?" C-ko whimpered.

"We'll see," she answered in the same careful tone, realising that probably the girl would interpret this as a promise, but not nearly ready to deal with the reaction telling her just yet that she was dead was likely to precipitate. Best to find out what had happened to her, before she revealed that particular little detail.

Pulling her coat closer about her, she coaxed C-ko up from her curled huddle, and took the blanket from her with the excuse of straightening it, just to be certain she was hiding nothing.

At last, reasonably satisfied that there were no obvious hiding-places in her clothing, she sighed and shook her head. The girl was certainly not dressed for this, indeed she wore nothing other than her absurd nightdress and a pair of fluffy slippers.

Returning the blanket, she allowed C-ko to move closer beside her, although she would not let her huddle against her, nor would she share the girl's blanket. Apart from anything else, close or prolonged physical contact was something she had never allowed even her closest friends, and she was not about to compromise for someone she had known for less than five minutes.

C-ko was plainly unhappy about not being allowed this extra sense of security, but she had stopped crying, and was gazing at the girl she seemed already to have begun to think of as her new friend, with relief and even the beginnings of a smile. She had been so frightened here alone, and so cold.

"I…I was asleep," she began in answer to the obvious question. "Then suddenly there was a sound that woke me up, and my window opened, and Biko was there. She wanted me to go with her, but it was the middle of the night, and if I was going to go anywhere, I wanted Eiko to come as well.

"But then Biko picked me up, and wrapped me in a big fluffy blanket: this one, and I didn't want to start crying just then, because that would have woken everyone else. So I thought I'd let Biko take me outside, and then let her know with a really good cry what I thought about her waking me up in the middle of the night and not telling Eiko what was happening.

"So then we flew out the window, and i was just getting ready to let loose with the best cry I could do at such short notice.

"But then something was there on the ground, something big and dark, and somehow horrible but frightened at the same time. And Biko screamed before I could, and there was a bright flash, and I was falling, and Biko was screaming and fighting the dark thing, and then I fell through the ground.

"And then I was cold, and then I woke up, and it was colder, and I was here."

By the time she had finished she was crying again.

"I think something happened to Biko," she sniffled. "Maybe something happened to Eiko too, and that's why Biko came; and then…"

And with that, she was wailing all the more.

"All right," the other soothed, determined to reassure her, if only to stop the infernal din. "We'll find her if we can. But now we have to be moving. We can't just sit here; do you understand?"

"Y-yes," sniffled C-ko, making a surprising effort to stop whimpering. "Can we go now?"

"Now," she said, rising quickly to her feet.

C-ko stood up, then tripped on her blanket, and would have fallen if the other girl had not caught her.

"Here," she said in exasperation. "Stand still while I fix this.

"There," she ended as she finished wrapping the blanket around her. "and keep it held tight.

"And stop skipping about all over the place!" she added in growing anger, as C-ko began to bound up and down, beaming now with the certainty that everything would soon again be all right. "We've no idea what the surrounding terrain is like. Do you want to end up breaking your neck down something you can't see?"

Immediately, C-ko sobered, moving close to her.

"I'm cold," she said, her tone suddenly very soft, and very afraid.

"Come on," said the other briskly, ignoring the sudden imploring look, and moving quickly from the smaller girls attempt to draw close. "We'd best get started."

And with that, she began to move. C-ko took two steps, and tripped on the blanket again.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What's the matter with you?" the other exploded, again catching her just before she hit the ground. "Can't you take two steps without doing a jig!

"Look, just hold the damned thing tight alright? That's all you have to do. Just hold it exactly like that, and stop jumping everywhere!"

With that, she slipped an arm reluctantly around the smaller girl, shuddering and almost recoiling at the close, hated contact, took too steps forwards; and plunged into oblivion.

There was no warning: no indication of any kind that the ground before them was any different from that upon which they had been standing.

C-ko's scream of terror shrilled wildly around her, her own bitten back viciously despite her shock, and changed into a snarl of rage. Then in the next instant they crashed into someone.

"Oy! Wha'd'ya think you're doing!" An outraged female voice yelled.

"Baka, it wasn't me!" Another shouted back.

Then everything was tumbling and shouting, until abruptly light exploded around them, and they tumbled out of the sudden brightness into ice-cold water.

"Aaaagh! Cold!" someone shrieked.

"_Eiko_! _Eiko_!" C-ko screamed.

"Baka! Hentai! Let go of me!" Came another, followed by a thud.

"Kawaikunee! Wha'd'ya do that for? I was only trying to help. Stupid, crazy otemba!"

"Would someone mind? I can't exactly swim," Johnathan spluttered as he was dunked several times in as many seconds.

Struggling at last from the tangled mass of bodies with a ferocity born of his fear of water, he splashed and thrashed about, until a sudden fierce grip caught his wrist. In the next moment he was scooped up as though he weighed nothing, and dumped unceremoniously face-down on soft grass.

"Satisfied?" A new, and somehow vaguely familiar female voice demanded, the question laced with contempt, but with an underlying touch of real amusement. "I don't believe it! It was a pond; not Bondi on a bad day!"

A moment later, Johnathan was flipped on to his back, and found himself staring up at his rescuer. Her long flame-red hair, tumbling in a wild, lustrous cascade below her waist, gleamed like fire in the warm spill of light from a nearby window, and piercing emerald eyes blazed with a fierce, almost feral intensity as they looked down into his own.

For a moment, Johnathan could do nothing but stare in stunned stupefaction up at the face that had defined his every image of perfection for years, and that seemed in that moment more impossibly beautiful than any dream he had ever known.

Then faintly he gasped: "Joanna?"

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Notes:

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This one needed a great deal more revision to get right. The DK stuff wasn't too bad, but the rest of the chapter was another matter.

Primarily, because Joanna was in a sense conceived at second-hand from how Johnathan imagined her,I could never get her right (one reason my SME effort has been stalled so long). Basically, I couldn't see how she could be believable, given her circumstances. She'd simply have attracted too much attention while still too young. Either she'd have been killed early on by some underworld hitman, or she'd have had to leave Sydney as soon as she could.

The only way out of course, was to make Johnathan's paradigm only a small part of her character, just as any created character would have to be far more than imagined in a story, if they truly could exist, and one could actually sit down and talk to them. I think at last I've managed it, but it was something of a balancing act without making her unrecognisable from what Johnathan had imagined.

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* * *


	5. Book I: Part I: Chapter V

As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

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Disclaimer:

Own only original stuff; not doing this for profit; suing would be pointless.

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Darkness Chronicles  
An anime-Manga Cross-over

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Book I:  
Part I: The Gathering  
Chapter V:

** ** **

Crack!

A chunk of pavement exploded almost at his heels. Then there was a heavy, tearing crunch as Marina leapt from the roof to which she had vaulted after shattering Ogawa's neck, and slammed down on the 33C that had nearly killed him scant moments before.

For a moment, he slowed his frantic pace, indecision and a sudden helpless fear for her making him hesitate, despite the danger and the agony shooting viciously from his wounded leg with every step. He had to wait; he could not…would not leave her like this. Yet he knew he could do nothing to help: that any hesitation now would only lessen the desperate chance she had given him, slim though it was.

He was badly hurt – he did not need the vicious stabs from his leg, and the dull, relentless ache from the bullet in his shoulder to tell him that, and he was sure also with a terrible certainty, that she could not keep this up for many minutes, not with most of her systems inaccessible, and with the sensory overload caused by her attempts to access her enhanced suite with the standard chip. She would crash or become hopelessly synaesthetic with data she had not the power to process as she was, and then they would have her once more, and it would all have been for nothing.

Choking back a sob of bitter self-reproach, he looked back one last time, and turned helplessly away. He should have known it was hopeless: that his bid for escape and her freedom could have had no other end.

Gasping for breath, his left leg shooting numbing shards of agony through his body at every impact with the ground, he rounded yet another corner, and dived desperately into the comparative darkness of an alley. He spun crazily, no longer able to bear his own weight on his injured leg, let alone that of the small heavy case he clutched desperately, protectively close. Then he cannoned into some dust-bins and other refuse, and a moment later he lay dazed and panting in a sodden pile of some unnameable, evil-smelling filth, the case tumbling to rest just beyond the reach of his clutching hand.

For what seemed an endless haze of pain and growing confusion, he lay still, too exhausted and terrified to move, while blood soaked slowly through his heavy trench-coat from the terrible wound in his shoulder, and through his trousers from the long, jagged slash just below his left knee where the 33C razor-doll had just missed shredding him from ankle to hip.

"You have to get up! You _have_ to!" he kept telling himself again and again. "You can't let it end; not like this. You're their only hope. She can't do this alone, and if you die now, what would have been the point?"

Yet for long seconds he remained where he was, while fear and a growing hopeless despair kept him helpless and unable to move.

It was another explosion and a long, agonised scream, suddenly cut short, that roused him again at last.

Stirring: trying vainly to fight down the retching, clutching nausea, he made a feeble effort to struggle to his knees. But already it was too late. Far beyond the limits of endurance, his exhausted, pain-racked body would not obey him, and at last he collapsed once more, to lie panting, unable to summon the will or strength even to turn his head. It would be so simple to surrender to the gentle, calling blackness of oblivion, an oblivion free from all the loss and pain.

For a moment he struggled to hold the darkness at bay. Then with a last tiny sob, he closed his eyes, and the world around him was no more.

* * *

Movement. He was being carried. He could feel the firm but careful grip about his legs and body, and his arms had been draped over lithe, slender shoulders.

He tried to stir, then moaned as fresh agony knifed through his left leg and wounded shoulder.

"Keep still," Came a low female voice close beside him.

For a moment, in his pain, he thought it was that of his lost daughter. Then another wave of agony washed over him and memory pieced itself together.

"Marina?" he gasped.

"You were expecting someone else?" The buma responded, her tone seeming to him in his daze almost amused, although no less wry for that. "Did you think I wouldn't make it?"

She laughed a chilling, hard-edged laugh, and tossed her head, her long fair hair flipping against his cheek.

"I…I hoped. But a 33C-A… They're quick and dangerous, and in your condition…"

"Losing isn't part of my nature," she answered, the hard edge still in her tone. "You should know. You defined my combat parameters, and wrote most of the code."

"Parameters change," he gasped, too exhausted to manage more. "I…I wasn't sure you'd care after what's happened, or come for anything but the case, even if you escaped."

"Then you're a bigger fool even than I imagined," she answered simply. "If you don't know your own firmware… Loyalty is such a high priority for us, is it not, Otousan?"

"You're more than firmware Marina," he began softly; "so much more."

But he was cut off by another short, savage laugh.

"Oh yes!" she said harshly. "So much more. The perfect assassin, the perfect lady of high society, the perfect spy, the perfect commander, the perfect street whore, the perfect bait for the Knight Sabres?" With this last she laughed again, a wild, savage sound, laced with what he was certain was self-mockery. "Except that now I need to find them, rather than take or kill them. You didn't put that in my redefined parameters before we had to run.

"I'm surprised you didn't christen me Shasti, rather than give me the name and likeness of your lost daughter. It would have been so much more appropriate." This time, the laugh was a short vicious snarl.

He tried to shake his head, not comprehending.

"It doesn't matter," she said, for a moment something almost resigned and weary in her words.

They continued in silence for some time, her smooth, cat-like movements barely jolting the injured scientist.

"Where are we going?" he asked at last.

"I'd intended to find a place where I could at least try to patch you up," she answered simply. "A derelict, an office building; it wouldn't have mattered. But you're too badly hurt. Now we have to stick to our original plan.

"They won't come looking tonight. I took the precaution of tampering with the surviving assassin, just a little; just enough to make them think she killed you. And Ogawa and Radford are dead. Not that that will mean much on close examination; I was a little pressed for time. But it will delay them, for a while; long enough, I hope."

"You really are amazing," he said softly, a father's warmth and pride suddenly in his tone.

"Genom's latest in the quest for perfection in combat and covert intelligence,," she parroted in a near perfect imitation of the tones she herself had used for the internal executive presentation only two days before, but tinged with a hard, sardonic edge. "Now that the restrictions regarding the production and export of military Buma models have at last been relaxed, Genom is ideally suited to take its place as the premier provider of products unsurpassed in power, reliability and combat performance.

"Presenting our latest prototype, first in an entirely new concept in next-generation Buma design, and heralding a quantum leap hitherto thought impossible.

"Incorporating our newly patented EOA (Enhanced Organic Architecture), together with the very latest in AI iso-linear technology, personality simulation, and heralding a revolution in quantum processing, the Bu-33DA is the ultimate tool for those demanding the very highest in state-of-the-art buma products with which the name of Genom Corporation has come to be synonymous.

She stopped, as though only now aware of just how dangerous it might be to announce herself to any who might be near enough to hear, and coherent enough to care: this was the Canyons after all.

But the man she was carrying did not have again to hear the words. He had helped write the speech she had delivered. In his semi-delirium, his mind ran on, replaying all that she had said during the presentation.

"Pre-programmed with over one-hundred-thousand personality variants, and presented standard with more than one-hundred-thousand terabytes of three-dimensional Optical RAM on-board, coupled with the very latest in relational data retrieval and assimilation, an on-board library including the Encyclopædia Britannica, the Oxford International Dictionary, over ten-thousand works of historical and cultural reference, and support for over two-hundred languages, the Bu-33DA is a must for those demanding the very best artificial intelligence has to offer."

"Able to emulate all functions of the proven C-Class military-spec Bu-55C-MKII without the need for internal expansion, and all functions of the military-spec Bu-33C Security Operative, together with the full capabilities of the discontinued S-Class special-operations model Bu-33S-A, including but not limited to social, relational and interface capabilities, the DA-33 is uniquely suited for a myriad of applications, from weapons control to shock-troop command, and from military confidante to the subtleties of covert intelligence.

"Add the enhanced DA-2134 EOA C+Q CPU with an additional one-hundred-thousand terabytes of CPU-INTERNAL 0.01 nano-second ORAM, together with DA-SPECIFIC weapons, physical and ECM enhancements, and the Bu-33DA becomes the Bu-33DA-Elite, a machine unparalleled in combat capability, physical performance, and relational intelligence and raw computing power."

There had followed a stunning, but in part simulated display of Marina disposing of a score or more of the best in C-class, Doberman and the massive Bu-12b machines within a matter of seconds, in part simulated because of last-minute problems with the first DA-2134, which had forced the first DA prototype to remain a standard 33 until the second chip (the huge block of pseudo-organic technology nestled, amongst other things, in the case that swung now from about the buma's neck) could be completed and tested.

That had very nearly cost them everything. It _had_ cost him her trust.

"We have to find her tonight!" he gasped, not wanting to remember again the rage and accusation in her eyes, or the words she had hurled at him when he had told her he had been discovered, and that they would have to abandon the others and escape while they could. "There's" so little time. If that madman moves tomorrow as you predicted…

"We can't do this alone. Until the upgrade is completed—"

"I'm a liability," she said shortly. "I know; I need not be told again.

"Stop moving," she continued harshly. "Do you want the tourniquet to come off? I'm perfectly aware of our need for speed; leave such matters to me."

"Couldn't you fly?" he asked, his voice a mutter of half-delirium.

"If somebody hadn't neglected to remember that the standard CPU hasn't the additional micro-instructions needed to drive enhanced thruster controller routines optimised for the 2134: yes, I could," she answered with more than a touch of sarcasm. "And, of course, if you want us detected again, and shot down for our trouble! I have no weapons control at the moment; or had you forgotten?

"I should have thought the CPU upgrade would have been your first priority."

"Needed your enhanced systems ready," he muttered, drifting again towards unconsciousness. "Thought we'd never get out without them. Didn't know so much would be incompatible. Panicked when Domina wouldn't help me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, M'rina."

"Tell that to Liana," she snapped savagely, her voice suddenly frigid with renewed accusation, "assuming you ever have the chance.

"Tell me! What did you expect me to do; be ready just like that, on the off-chance that lunatic would be stupid enough to send her to find us the moment your monumental carelessness announced to all of Genom what you intended?

"And now my new systems are all but useless, and she's still under that madman's control. I can't believe such unimaginable stupidity! And from you, of all people, when you should have known what would happen: what he would do to keep her."

"'Know," he murmured, his voice little more than a whisper. "'M sorry. Lost my daughter to him! Had to save you before they had chance to hurt you. Didn't want you to be Genom's slave. Just wanted get away; save you, and C'milla. Took Liana b'fore I could help her! Couldn't lose you too."

"You really are a stupid, maudlin fool!" she told him harshly.

But he could not see the sudden desperate tightness in her face, nor the glint of unshed tears in her blue eyes as she looked down at him for a moment, her expression melting. His own eyes were already closed, and her tone betrayed nothing.

"Wanted them to pay for what they did to her," she heard him gasp, his voice a cracked whisper. "No hope. Find us. Kill me, and make you forget; make you and C'milla what they want. And make more from F'llini's pr'ject. S'rry… So s'rry"

"Not if I can help it," she snarled, too softly for him to hear.

But she knew her time was desperately short. Even if there escape did not precipitate that lunatic Fellini moving earlier as she had predicted, they had at most until morning.

Her father had destroyed the recall data and her access key, but the project would already be expediting the activation of the only other DA in which a security key had been included, and as intelligent as he was, she knew his obsession had robbed him of the imaginative flare he once had possessed.

Once they had unlocked Camilla's key, it would only be a matter of a few permutations on her part before they had her own, even assuming he had not been fool enough to include it in the other DA's initial data.

They had to get to Sylia Stingray before that happened. If the Mason-Largo journals she had found were not a self-deception on his part, and she did not believe they were, in the Knight Sabres alone lay her only chance to save her father, and her only hope for the completion of the upgrade he had begun, before it was too late. The vigilantes would have to have access to qualified medical personnel who would ask no questions – they could not operate without that safeguard, and they must have facilities capable of completing her upgrade in safety; their own equipment could not be maintained without them.

Also, in Stingray's daughter alone lay perhaps her one hope to unravel the subtleties of the fundamental algorithms even Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky had not been able fully to comprehend. His knowledge, like that of every scientist in the vastness of Genom Corporation, was at least in part empirical: at best a reflection of the intricacies of the unique, inventive genius that had made the lithe, stunningly beautiful pinnacle of technological achievement who raced now with her precious cargo through the vastness of the canyons with such single-minded purpose, possible.

Haynes was out of the question. There was no hope of reaching him, and no time to try.

She had to reach Katsuhito Stingray's daughter before her father grew worse, and before morning; there was no other chance. By dawn they would have Camilla out of her tank, and the second functional DA-2134 could be initialised and installed within a few hours.

Not that they would need the chip, unless their initial attempt failed. They would waste no time with tests; Camilla would be of no danger whilst her enhanced physical and weapons systems remained off-line. They would have her attempt immediate access to the first prototype, and Marina could not access the code to override her response once her key had been sent; there was no code as such to access, a precaution on father's own suggestion she knew, ironic as that was now: a failsafe should her prototype systems crash so completely that nothing else was accessible.

The key would hardware cold-boot her systems, and place her in firmware command mode under the control of a simple bootstrap, the standard iso-linear running as little more than an extremely expensive ORAM interface. Then they would have her, her, and father. And once that happened, the capture and destruction of the Knight Sabres was inevitable, and with their deaths would die for ever the last hope of freedom for her and her sisters, and if Fellini was not stopped, the last hope for all humanity.

The 2134 upgrade alone would do nothing to prevent such a scenario; her firmware was designed to run the classical-instruction portion of the 34 in an enhanced equivalent of the same mode at cold-boot. The hardware key needed to be changed or removed, and the code-base created by the elder Stingray, and which defined the general instruction set still for every buma CPU, needed to be altered to ensure maximum protection from any potential Genom override code, and anything Fellini might have created. And there was only one person who might understand the original algorithms enough to be able to do that.

She had to take this chance. If Mason had guessed correctly, Sylia Stingray and the Knight Sabres were their only hope. And she would help them, or she and her team would die. Of that, Marina would make very certain.

Alexei moaned again, and she shifted him a little, trying to ease the pain. He was in desperate need of attention. He had lost too much blood in the alley before she had found him, and probably he had infected the wounds during his time amongst the refuse, not to mention the fact that a good deal of shrapnel was still inside him, and he might well have severe internal injuries.

Were she fully functional, she could have taken to the air, or covered the ground at perhaps twenty times her present speed. Given reasonable conditions, she might very well also have been able to operate on him successfully, even with minimal facilities, and in his dire situation.

But her enhanced systems were proving far less compatible with the standard chip even than the worst he had feared, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to interpret the growing, screaming ruin that was supposed to be sensory data. Any attempt on her part to access more of her new systems would only hasten the deterioration.

Baring her teeth in a combat-snarl of savage frustration, she tightened her grip on the now unconscious scientist, and began to increase her pace. She could not afford to spare him. If she did not find help quickly, he would die, and all hope would end.

Snarling again, her mouth set in a feral line of grim determination, she lowered her head, settled the man she considered her father closer to her, and went on running.

* * *

"Priss! Priss; behind you!"

Whirling at Nene's scream, Priss ducked the vicious swipe of yet another C-55, and flipped back to put some distance between herself and the buma.

The fight seemed to have gone on for ever, yet somehow there seemed to be as many opponents as when they had first engaged them, what seemed an age ago.

"Eat this you bastard!" she snarled, twisting from the path of the blast, and driving a spike into the machine's suddenly gaping mouth.

There was a satisfying flash as the laser discharged into the buma's head, then in the next moment an explosion slammed Priss to the ground.

"Sh*t!" she panted, flipping to her feet. "How many more are there!"

A desperate, nearby scream made her remember Nene. And suddenly, like every other time, the fear came, rising with sudden, terrible speed through the fire and adrenalin of the fight like a slow, lurking memory of nightmare and poisonous dread. She knew Nene was in trouble, but she did not know why.

Spinning just in time to avoid the claws of yet another homicidal machine, and smash it to the ground with a savage back-hand, Priss leapt away and turned, just in time to see Linna whip round, slashing the head from the machine that had been about to take her head off.

"Have to do better than that!" Priss cursed herself.

She spun, flipping again as yet another particle beam slammed into the place in which she had been standing scant moments before, the irrational, unreasoning terror growing with every moment.

Then in the next instant something slammed into her from behind, and she found herself on the ground, pinned and utterly unable to move.

"Damn it, damn it! No!" she gasped with sudden frantic need, struggling urgently to escape, knowing like before that this was the critical moment: that this time she must not fail.

Kicking out with a savagery born of desperation, she felt her foot connect with hard, yielding metal. There was a dull thudding crunch, and Priss hurled the suddenly dead weight from her, and lurched upright. She turned to finish the machine just struggling to its feet.

Then suddenly a terrible, agonised scream made her spin back, and away. Knowing already what would happen: that as always she was too late, Priss searched wildly for a moment, and froze, head up, eyes wide, gaping, sickened and horror-stricken.

Nene hung limply in the grip of the 33C razor-doll, the machine's claws seeming impossibly to have punched right through her suit. She was turned half towards her, her helmet torn away, blood splashing on her lips and pumping from the dreadful wound over the buma's arm as she hung, her face a mask of leaping terror, green eyes wide and glazed with pain and numb incomprehension.

Then, even as Priss stood frozen, knowing what was to come, yet as always too numb to do anything but stare in nightmare fascination, the machine seemed to shift and change before her eyes, until in her place stood the tall, stunning figure of a woman, her long flame-red hair streaming like living fire about her, her face, beautiful and terrible beyond the last end of torment and ruinous despair, twisted in a nightmare smile of unholy, boundless appetite as she lifted Nene effortlessly in her arms, her mouth reaching for the blood on her own.

"No!" Priss heard her own voice as though from some great distance, yet her scream seemed suddenly to fill the world. "No! No! No!"

Then the thing turned towards her. And she was ruin and oblivion beyond the last end of madness, and Priss began to scream, a scream that had no beginning, and would last until the uttermost end of for ever.

With a lurch, Priss bolted wildly into a sitting position, choking back another scream of primal negation, bedclothes flung in every direction as she thrashed desperately for a moment, caught still in the cloying horror of the dream. Then she was staggering to the basin, fighting savagely against the nausea that threatened to have her bring up everything she had eaten the night before at any moment.

For almost a minute she knelt, while her racing heart slowed and the extremity of the nightmare receded, until at last, the nausea abating, she returned to sit on the edge of the bed, a glass of cool water in her hand.

"Damn this!" she muttered furiously, glaring about the interior of her caravan as though seeking some enemy in the shadows upon which to vent her boiling frustration.

This was the sixth night in a row that the damn nightmare had come calling. Always the dream was the same: the interminable fight with a never-ending hoard of buma, while a part of her waited, knowing with a growing certainty how the nightmare would end, yet helpless to act or to influence in any way the horrible climax to the scenario. Only the victim and the attacking buma changed. Last night it had been Linna, the night before, Sylia. Once even it had been Sylvie, appearing absurdly in the midst of the fight, running desperately towards her only to be hit by a leering C-55 that had lifted her broken form, to morph and change into the same tall, flame-haired figure of infinite ruin, smiling with a look of hate and triumph, and a hunger beyond depravity as she held the feebly-struggling 33S, and Sylvie screamed and screamed with a lost, broken horror Priss could still hear in her memory.

With a half-snarl of rage, Priss rose to pace restlessly about her home like some caged thing. She knew she should try to forget about it: that brooding on the damn thing every time it came to torment her, probably was only going to make things worse. But it was the overwhelming, cloying intensity of the nightmare that most troubled her, the horror made all the more unsettling by the fact that she was no stranger to bad dreams, and she knew she should have been able easily to deal with something like this.

It made no sense. Why the hell should she be dreaming this now, night after night, and why the hell did it keep bothering her for so long once she was awake? Nothing had changed; indeed, things had been unusually calm and quiet since that lunatic Yoshida had tried his insane attack on the ADP. Maybe that was the problem, she thought wryly. Not being called on to risk her life every other night, some deranged, twisted little part of her subconscious was dreaming up this sick nightmare, just to keep her on her toes, and remind her that she had better not get too comfortable.

She smiled a sardonic little smile, barely able to suppress a laugh of self-mockery. That just would not surprise her; it would not surprise her at all. The trouble was that the damn dream was so horribly real and vivid, far worse than even the worst nightmares to which periodically she was prone, and no matter what she tried, she did not seem to be able to stop the stupid thing from coming again and again to wake her in the early hours, thrashing and struggling, and screaming like some kid less than half her age.

Priss sighed. It was plain that she was not going to get any more sleep tonight. It was almost morning anyway, and she had an early rehearsal, something unusual for the Replicants, but something into which she had cajoled them to agreeing, due to the fact that Sylia had scheduled a training session for the coming afternoon, followed by a rare night out together as a group, just to relax, since things were so quiet.

She shook her head. The idea of spending her social time with the other sabres did not bother her at all as once it might have done. They had become her friends: she no longer even pretended otherwise, despite all their differences; perhaps closer than any friends in a long time. But the continuing nights of far too little sleep were taking their toll, and she was dead tired.

Perhaps, she thought moodily, she should try talking to the others about the damn nightmare. Probably they would laugh their heads off at her expense: well, Linna and Nene at least. But she had had enough of the damn stupid dream, and she seemed to remember reading something somewhere once about dreams going away if you told someone else about them. Yeah, that might just get rid of the stupid thing, and let her get a decent night's sleep for the first time in what felt like a small eternity.

Suppressing a sudden, copious yawn, Priss stretched, fighting down the momentary desire to just curl up once more, before she moved to get ready for a long, soothing shower, and to find something to wear.

Typical. Just when the damn dream was starting properly to fade and she might have been able to get more sleep, she was not going to get the chance.

Sighing again, she finished gathering what she needed, and soon she was preparing for what was going to be a very long day.

* * *

"That was undoubtedly the worst performance of your life."

Priss sat back, staring miserably at the screen. She had known that she had performed far below her usual standard, but she had not realised just what one hell of a dog's breakfast she was making, until Sylia had called a halt in the middle of a test, deactivated the simulation, and told Priss to come out to where she and the others were waiting in a tone that left the young singer in no doubt that she was very far from pleased.

"Well?" Sylia continued grimly, one slender finger flashing out to cancel the replay with a snap that seemed to echo throughout the room. "Perhaps you'd care to tell me why you just scored a 2.5, an aggregate I might add lower even than Nene has managed after two double shifts, and a night getting far less sleep than she should."

The redhead flushed in embarrassment, remembering more than one less than stellar performance after half a night spent gaming or chatting on-line, when she should have been tucked up well asleep.

Priss shifted, suddenly both ashamed and furious with herself for not being able to deal with something so simple. It was a dream; a damn stupid dream! And here she was, worrying herself sick because she was not getting enough sleep due to some idiotic nightmare. Why the hell was she letting it get to her? Why couldn't the thing just go the hell away, and stop tormenting her every damn night!

Abruptly, and to her shock and outrage, Priss felt her face begin to burn, while her eyes stung suddenly with unshed tears. Clenching herself, suddenly more angry and humiliated than she could remember being in a very long time, she surged to her feet, whirling towards the door, her only thought to get out and find somewhere private to sort out what the hell was going on.

Then a slender hand laid gently on her arm.

"Priss?" Sylia's voice was quiet, and suddenly it was all Priss could do not to burst into angry, frustrated tears.

For what seemed for ever, she just stood there, fighting savagely for control.

"Sorry," she said at last, when she was certain her voice would not crack. "I'm sorry, Sylia. The truth is, I…I haven't been sleeping well over the last few nights."

For another long moment she hesitated, still more ashamed for her inability to rid herself of the stupid damn dream. But she would be damned if she would let this beat her, and at last, with a heavy sigh, she settled again slowly in her place. Then steeling herself, she began to speak.

* * *

She had seldom been in a more foul mood. Kate Madigan stood amidst the ruin that had once been Dr. Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky's, and his daughter's city flat, and vowed that she would have the miserable, narrow-visioned bastard eviscerated with something small and very blunt by the very machine he had stolen, after security had finished with him of course. It had not been a good night for Madigan.

She had been roused from a dead, dark sleep by the C-55 all but dragging her from her bed, only an hour after she had settled into it for the night.

For one terrifying moment, the nightmare certainty that the chairman had decided that her mishandling of the largo affair did indeed warrant summary dismissal, and that her services would no longer be required, had seized her with horrible intensity. Then the security buma had made its report.

The first Bu-33DA prototype was missing, along with Zhuranovsky and the functional DA-2134.

Madigan, cursing more vehemently than she had since the moment the true enormity of the Largo fiasco had become clear to her, had struggled with frantic speed into something more suitable than a nightdress, her mind whirling in wild desperate speculation.

There had been indications that the fool might try something like this, indications to which she should have paid attention, rather than listening to the idiots who considered themselves the cream of Genom internal security. Ever since the unfortunate death of his daughter, the scientist had been a liability. Yet her baka advisers insisted that he was obsessed with seeing the project to its completion, and would not try to escape, not yet, not until the last test was complete, and he had seen the machine he had begun to think of as all but the resurrection of his lost child fully functional. Certainly, they had assured her continually in imbecilic concert, there was no possibility that he might try to flee with her before the remaining prototypes were activated and tested to his satisfaction. He had begun to care for them rather than simply for the project, and that would keep him focused and loyal.

She should have known better. She should have had him confined to quarters within the tower for the duration, or at least until the first DA's initial firmware could be checked independently, both for faults, and for any influence he might have hidden in its programming.

The problem was that they were desperately pressed for time. The attack on Gulf and Bradley, and the ensuing investigation into the American company it had precipitated had forced them to sever all ties with their disgraced partner. If things turned out as anticipated, they would move in later to pick over the scraps and purchase the ruined company and its patents at a fraction of their initial investment.

But now contracts must be met, and the joint project had in any case always been little more than a diversion: something to control and manipulate the military of an increasingly desperate Third World, and to divert attention from the infinitely more important, not to mention proffitable potential realised in the revolutionary Bu-33DA prototype.

And it had been going so well. Had it not been for the failure of the initial 2134, the field-test could have begun, and the infiltration of the Knight Sabre organisation taken place _exactly_ as originally intended.

Madigan's plan had been elegant in its simplicity.

Camilla, a new experimental prototype based supposedly on a merging of the 33C personal security unit and the discontinued 33-S sexaroid, and designed apparently for the lucrative and in some cases illegal international market in such products, as well as its domestic equivalent now that the restrictions on such buma had at last been relaxed, would escape" with Marina, the daughter of a distinguished Genom scientist forced to head the project, and murdered" recently "after the machine's completion.

Whilst Camilla, the standard DA, played the part of desperate escapee for the sabres benefit, Marina, the Bu-33DA-Elite, would be waiting, the perfect distraught daughter of a cruelly murdered genius, apparently no longer willing to trust anyone as an intermediary, save for her father's creation, who had become her friend.

Madigan might not know who the Knight Sabres were, but she was certain it would not take the two supposed escapees long to find them, given a convincing scenario and the appropriate leaking of information concerning the project, information specifically created for the occasion, but based, at least in part, on a tiny fragment of the truth.

Camilla's task would be to observe, and to play the desperate, terrified machine-become-alive, appalled at what she had been created to become, and seeking a new beginning. At each return to the hideout Madigan had no doubt the sabres would soon provide, she could upload the gathered data to Marina, who would be the field commander and determine what should be done. When they were ready, Marina would upgrade the second DA, and they would summon the sabres to the hideout on whatever pretext seemed appropriate. The women would be captured and brought to the tower, where the remaining four prototypes would be waiting to take their place.

Unlike Largo's ridiculous trap, the deception would be perfect. After the appropriate extraction of information, ensuring of course that none of the four were damaged unduly, the four DAs would be released to destroy the sabres' reputations beyond hope of redemption. When their future was ruined: when they were hated and despised, the buma would be recalled, and the four disgraced Knight Sabres released to provide the ADP, USSD, SDPC, Genom, or whomever else wished to bring action against them, with the criminals the city would demand.

The plan: "_Her_ plan" she reminded herself bitterly, had been her first real chance to redeem herself in the chairman's eyes, and he himself had approved it as an acceptable first test for the new prototypes. And with a single stroke, Zhuranovsky had brought it crashing down about her.

She would die if she could not recover at least the stolen DA, and its chip, of that she had no doubt. Failure of this magnitude was beyond incompetence; it could be almost inconceivably disastrous. Should the Knight Sabres hear of this, and take the buma, and the 2134, she did not want to imagine the appalling implications.

"Ma'am?"

Madigan started at the rumbling tone of the machine at her side, unused to being unnerved by the creatures.

"Have you found anything?" she demanded, although she held out very little hope.

"Dr. Zhuranovsky has not entered his home today, nor does the inventory indicate anything either touched, or missing," The machine answered.

"Very well. Have everything removed to the tower for analysis, regardless of how insignificant, then burn the flat," she said briskly. "Place a watch on the building and—"

She stopped as her phone pinged.

"Madigan," she snapped even as she snatched it from her coat, and unfolded it.

"The surviving security buma has just returned, Madigan-sama," Came the voice of a human security operative. "It claims that it has destroyed both Zhuranovsky, and his companion."

Madigan had warned them that it would mean death to anybody who said something that could identify the DA-33 over the network, secure as it might be. But this news made her forget her own caution.

"Destroyed!" she shrieked, fear, and rage fighting for dominance. "Didn't you tell those two idiots what they were to do?"

"Ogawa, and Radford are dead; the 33C brought back their bodies in the car. It seems that…um…Zhuranovsky's companion broke both their necks, and tried to attack the buma. It had no choice but to destroy it…um…her."

"How very unfortunate," Madigan purred icily. "and how thoughtful that it brought back Ogawa and Radford, while leaving the others behind.

"Have that data treble-checked" she continued, her contempt for the man and the rest of the congenital imbeciles in internal security climbing several further notches as she shook her head, dismissing the buma's report already as absurd. "and have the location of the battle to me in less than thirty seconds. Believe me, if this _is_ true, Ogawa's, and Radford's deaths will be the least of your problems."

That should at least get the fool thinking, if indeed that were possible.

"Hai, Madigan-sama," The man answered, unable to keep the sudden terror from his voice.

Madigan whirled from the sitting-room, and snapping several further instructions to the gathered humans and machines, she strode quickly from the flat, and down towards her waiting limousine.

Moments later she was being chauffeured at speed towards the canyons, the four security buma silent as they listened to her continuing commands.

* * *

Priss yawned, stretching luxuriously as she woke gently from the best few hours sleep she had had in what seemed for ever.

As usual, Sylia had been right, she thought with a strange mixture of gratitude, and a momentary touch of irritation. Had Sylia actually ever in her life been wrong? She had suggested Priss stay the rest of the afternoon in the guest room, and had given her a short-term soporific to help her sleep.

And it had worked. The nightmare had not come to plague her, and she felt better than she had in several days.

Yawning again, Priss slid to the floor, the last of her lassitude vanishing as she made her way into the room's opulent en suite. She had perhaps an hour before they would have to leave to meet the others at the restaurant, and she was going to make the best of it.

Soon, she was relaxing in a great deal of deliciously hot water, the nightmare all but forgotten as she settled back and half-closed her eyes. Yep; this day was not turning out so badly after all.

* * *

"You shee Prish? Told you you were worrying 'bout nothing."

Nene was sprawled haphazardly across her chair, her head having just settled on Linna's arm, her green eyes trying vainly to remain focused on the blur that was an increasingly moody Priss who sat facing her.

Beside her, Linna snapped closed the data-pad on which she had just finished making an investment update she had forgotten to do that morning, and pushed her upright yet again, shaking her head.

Nene giggled.

"Whasha matter?" she demanded cheerfully, trying to turn to look at her. "Can't sh'port me? Anyway; don't need it. 'M fine; shee?"

She tried to stand, swayed, and collapsed back in her seat.

"You know," she continued, suddenly morose, "I think 's time to go somewhere elshe. Thish ish sh'poshed to be fun." She glanced across the table at Priss and Sylia, then slumped back in her place.

Priss was now glaring at her, her initial good mood having long since evaporated. Why was she not surprised that this had happened? Nene had an unfortunate tendency to over-indulge when they went somewhere together for an evening, if they did not watch her. Not prone to drinking, the younger girl was appallingly bad at gauging her limits, which were low, even for someone of her small size.

At first, shocked at how few drinks it took to render the young redhead all but paralytic, and concerned she did not get herself into trouble when they went out together, Priss had come very soon to the conclusion that treating her like a little kid was not going to help, and that the only way to make her take greater care was to let her get herself falling-down drunk once or twice to teach her to be more careful, an opinion the others seemed to share.

Unfortunately, although a great deal more aware of her alcohol intolerance than she had been a year before, still Nene did not seem to have grasped the concept that a good wine could get her plastered just as easily as something a great deal less refined, this evidenced by the fact that she was now glaring petulantly around the table, seeming not at all pleased that her suggestion of a moment before was being met with such disinterest.

Priss sighed, shifting irritably in her place. The damn night had started off so well, but she had realised too late that even a little alcohol had not been a good idea, as her anxiety concerning whether the damn nightmare would come again that night returned, and her mood darkened. Now she sat, glowering across at the smaller girl, her current drink barely touched, her mind still on what had happened earlier.

As she had feared, Linna and Nene had ribbed her mercilessly about the dream, although they were as sympathetic as amused, and she knew the teasing was as much an attempt to try to cheer her up as anything else. But they had not experienced the overwhelming intensity of the horror, and although she had tried to laugh with them, she had become increasingly grim and morose as the evening progressed, and she began to wonder whether the coming night would be any better.

"You know, you're really pathetic sometimes," she said sourly, still glaring across at the younger girl, knowing she was being unfair, but too irritated at that moment to give a damn.

"Wha'ja mean!" Nene retorted, hurt. "Leasht my dream-buma don't turn into vampire women, or whatever it was. Thatsh really weird you know, 'nlesh it was shome kind of shubconscious thing telling you it washn't your fault, what happened to Shylvie." Abruptly she brightened, plainly pleased with her deductive powers. "Hey! I'll bet that's it!" she cried, far too loudly for Priss's liking. "I'll bet you're still feeling guilty, sho the dream's trying to tell you—"

But Priss had had enough. Leaning suddenly across the table, she brought her face close to that of the young redhead, her red eyes flashing angrily.

"Listen Nene," she growled, the words harsher even than she had expected as Sylvie's broken form flashed painfully for a moment in her memory, "I'm not in the mood for this now, alright?"

She rose angrily to her feet, glaring into the green eyes that were suddenly confused and on the brink of tears.

"Hey, Priss," said Linna quietly, not wanting the night to end like this, "let's just leave it all right?

"And as for you, little Miss Cyberpunk," she continued, standing quickly, and slipping an arm around Nene to lift her to her feet, "I think you've had quite enough for one night.

"I'll take her home, Sylia," she ended quietly.

Sylia nodded, her attention on Priss. Gently she reached out, and caught the other girl's hand, exerting a gentle but insistent pressure to pull her back into her seat.

For a moment Priss remained standing, still glaring at Nene. Then she sighed and settled back once more, her expression softening, and Sylia relaxed her hold.

"'M all right; no need to hold me up," Nene was insisting, swaying on her feet, and smiling through the brimming tears as she clutched at Linna for support.

"Shut up," said Linna without anger as she slipped the data-pad into her bag, and slung it on her arm.

"But I'm 'll right," Nene insisted, beginning to pout. "'M not a shild. Le' go. 'wan t'njoy myself. 'm not going home yet."

"Yes you are," said Linna calmly.

"'m not going home yet!" Nene insisted with far greater volume.

Then she lurched, swayed again, and collapsed into Linna's arms in a dead faint.

"I think you are," said Priss, with a sudden smile. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

Shaking her head, she moved to help Linna and Sylia get a blissfully oblivious Nene out to Linna's van, her look abruptly warm and fond as she gazed down at the smaller girl for a moment, before she shook her head again and turned away.

"Can you manage with her?" she said to Linna as she stepped back. "I can follow you if—"

"No," Linna assured her. "I'll be fine."

Sylia disappeared in the direction of her car, returning with a bottle of small, pink pills, one of which she convinced Nene to wake up long enough to take.

"That should help her metabolise the alcohol in an hour or so," she said quietly to Linna, her own face touched with a smile as the young redhead murmured a giggling: "Night-night. Sleepy-time!" and settled into blissful oblivion again as Linna closed her door. "At least she won't regret this tomorrow."

Moments later Linna had wished her and Priss goodnight, and soon she was driving through the night towards Nene's flat, the younger girl curled up beside her.

Linna hummed quietly to herself, her own mood introspective. Things had been quiet, too quiet recently. For nearly two months they had done little, save to train and deal with the ever more occasional buma rampages. Not that she minded the respite. Yet it gave her time to think, and to ponder anew the path her life was taking.

Beside her, Nene murmured something in her sleep, and Linna glanced down at her for a moment and sighed.

It was easy for the others. Nene's reasons for being part of the team were clear and straight-forward: a naive but unshakable desire to do what she could to make the city safe. Sylia, with her grim, calculating determination to settle the debt Genom owed her family and the world at large, needed no other reason. Even Priss, with her bouts of depression, rage, and savage desire to make Genom suffer, knew exactly why and for what she was fighting.

But for Linna, the reasons for staying were less simple, even to herself. True, the money was far better than anything she might have expected to make as a dancer: certainly _far_ more than she could ever make as an aerobics instructor. But money had long ceased to be her primary motivation, and the more so still after Irene's death at Mason's hands.

She had never been cynical, able nearly always to remain cheerful and optimistic, and make the best of every chance life had given her. Yet she found herself wondering suddenly when she had really started to believe in what Sylia was trying to do, and just when the other Sabres had become three of the best friends she had ever had.

She smiled, glancing again for a moment at Nene curled up in oblivious contentment. Yet she wondered with a sudden chill whether things would be the same in five, or perhaps even in ten years. Would she still be a faceless figure in a green hardsuit, risking her life night after night for a battle she knew in her heart they could never truly win?

What of the career she had left behind, of the life she had once dreamed could be hers, but that was impossible while things remained as they were? What of her future?

Linna shivered, abruptly intensely aware of the loneliness that lurked always behind the facade of success, and confidence she projected, waiting until one day she realised that the chance for happiness had flown, never to be recalled. Suddenly afraid and vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to feel, she reached out to Nene at her side.

But Nene slept on untroubled, and Linna withdrew her hand, a sudden, unreasoning feeling of foreboding taking chill possession of her. In that moment she wanted only to reach the relative security of her own apartment, empty though it might be.

Shivering again, Linna increased her speed, the irrational unease growing with every mile as she sped through the night to take Nene home.

* * *

She was running, fleeing wildly through a frigid, numbing whiteness, while something she could not name pursued her, closer with every moment, and a nameless, cloying horror grew and grew so that she ran blindly, and dared not look back.

"Sylia!" A voice called again. The tone was almost familiar, Yet she could not place it. "Sylia Stingray."

And then she knew. Or did she? Largo, or Mason, or some twisted amalgamation of the two?

Stumbling to a halt, she whirled, staring helplessly into the fog, seeking vainly for the source of the myriad echoes. For a moment she could see nothing. Then the fog swirled and parted, and he stood before her, Largo in all his malignant power, but with the face of the man he had been.

"Sylia!" he said, his voice shifting somehow between that of Mason and Largo, whilst sounding of both and neither. "Sylia Stingray! I knew it."

And with that, he smiled a smile of death, and raised his hand, and her world was filled with fire.

With a gasp, Sylia jerked herself awake, bolting upright as she stared about her room, her heart racing feverishly for a moment, before she drew in a long, steadying breath and sighed. This was not the first time she had dreamt of Mason, or Largo, or both, but the fog and the overwhelming sense of foreboding were something new.

Sylia shook her head. No doubt the atmosphere was at least in part conjured up from Priss's description of her own nightmare, and her subconscious decided to pick tonight to remind her of her own past demons for no other reason than some particularly warped sense of humour.

Sighing, she glanced aside at the clock on her bed-side table. It was a little after two.

Shifting a little, she prepared to lay down and go back to sleep. Then suddenly she froze.

Something was wrong. For a moment she could not place the sudden sense of imminent danger. Then she stiffened as it came again: the faintest sounds of stealthy, barely-heard movement from somewhere in the flat.

It was not Mackie. He was staying at Dr. Raven's for the night, as he was in the middle of a project, and had intended to work late. Besides, Sylia knew the sounds he made; the knowledge was instinctive, like anything else safe and familiar.

Reaching for the emergency pager she kept always close at hand, she activated it and set it aside. It would take the others some considerable time to arrive, even assuming they did not sleep through the call. Meanwhile, she would have to deal with whatever, or whomever was there. Whatever it was had been able to enter the building, without triggering her security, a nearly impossible task that spoke of only one kind of intruder.

Was this then how it was to end; her last fight? If so, she would not die without a struggle, nor at all, if she could help it.

Moving quickly, her mind suddenly cold, and calm, Sylia rolled to the floor, reaching for the heavy Earth-shaker that lay on the dressing-table . She caught it up, then froze. The stealthy sounds had ceased. There was a soft, barely-perceptible click as a door was opened and closed again with the same exquisite care. Then came the faintest whisper of a footfall.

For one fractional moment Sylia had time to realise that she had miscalculated, and to raise the pistol in a last hope. Then the bedroom door exploded inwards, and something barely glimpsed closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, and slammed her face-down on the bed.

"Should you move, I will not hesitate to cut your head from your body," Purred a low female voice close to her ear.

Sylia felt the pistol plucked from her hand, then a tiny jerk as it was flicked to the further side of the room.

"You are Sylia Stingray?" The voice continued.

It was as cold and calculating as the tones of any buma Sylia had heard, and the frigid chill of the body pinning her own only confirmed what she already knew.

"I imagine you knew that already," she answered, her own tone belying the sudden turmoil in her mind.

How had the machine entered the building without triggering a dozen facets of her security? Yet she was given no time to consider.

With a sudden brisk movement, the buma half lifted her in one arm, keeping her face pressed to the pillow.

"Forgive me," It said unexpectedly.

Then there was a quick savage sound of tearing as it slashed her shift from neck to hem, pulled it from her, and in one fluid movement, whirled in a quick, curling motion to stand, snatching her from the bed as though she weighed nothing, and setting her naked on her feet, her back turned towards it.

"Do not try to turn," It said, the threat more apparent by the lack of overt warning in its tone.

For a moment it remained still. Then with the same fluid motion it spun her to face it.

Now it was Sylia's turn to gasp. The buma could not have been further from what she had expected.

Standing perhaps a little under six feet in height, the machine was scandinavian-fair and astoundingly beautiful, a picture of voluptuous female curves beneath the scant, tight-fitting jump-suit that clung close to the lithe, slender form. Long, lustrous fair hair tumbled in heavy, dishevelled waves below its waist, a tattered ribbon that once must have kept it tied back and out of its way looped still loosely in its tangles. The picture of elegance, however, was disturbed horribly by the fact that Freshly dried blood, and more that was not dried smeared the clothing such as it was, and more still was spattered on the bare arms, fair face, and long neck. The look in the blue eyes as they regarded her was disconcertingly intense, and very much alive, and the ripe, full mouth was set in a fierce smile of savage determination and appraisal as the creature studied her intently. Had she not already guessed the truth, she could not have told that the thing before her was not as human as herself.

"Impressive," Sylia acknowledged calmly, searching for something with which to buy time. "Although the blood does detract somewhat from the perfect picture of elegance.

"But I understood Genom had abandoned such designs. Or have the recent changes to export restrictions encouraged Chairman Quincy to rethink his priorities? Certainly I wouldn't have thought it appropriate for an assassin, unless of course, I'm being treated to a display of his own perverse sense of humour?"

The machine surprised her again by laughing, a hard, savage sound.

"Your composure does you credit," said Marina. "But even you have no idea how close you and your friends have been to death, nor of the danger in which you might have found yourself had I been sent as Genom intended.

"Still, that's not important at the moment. I'm not here to kill you, not unless in the last possible extreme, and certainly not if you're willing to help me, and save Tousan's life.

"My name is Marina, and I've not come at Genom's command.

"Tell me what clothes you need. Do not move."

Less than a half-minute later, Sylia had finished dressing in all that the machine would allow her.

"Come," Marina commanded, pushing her ahead of her from the bedroom, and along the passage. "Father was hurt during our escape, and I can't help him as I am."

Entering the sitting-room, Sylia gasped again as she caught her first sight of the figure lying by the door. Blood pulsed slowly from a shredded gaping wound in his shoulder, and also from the long, vicious slash in his left leg, splashing on to the already blood-soaked trench-coat upon which he lay. It was clear to her immediately that the shoulder-wound at least had been given him by a heavy-calibre gunshot.

"Who on Earth—" she demanded.

But the buma had already crossed to the figure, and returned, a small black case clutched in her arm.

"You will find the data, and the chip you need in this," she continued, her tone suddenly fierce, and urgent. "I'll explain everything when I know Tousan is safe. But now you will fetch help for him. You must have someone you can call; your organisation could not function otherwise."

"Organisation?" Sylia inquired mildly.

But a horrible suspicion that the strange buma knew already exactly of what she was speaking was confirmed as the machine's eyes flashed.

"Don't try to play games with me, Stingray-san!" Marina said coldly. "I haven't the time, and nor have you. Both of us know to what I'm referring; I see no meed to be more specific. If you—"

But suddenly she whirled, easing the case quickly to the floor.

In the next instant the window exploded, and three hardsuited figures leapt into the room. It seemed that the alarm system had long since signalled Mackie after all.

Before Sylia could so much as move, the machine had twisted, slipped aside, and leapt to attack. Moving with an inconceivable, fluid blur of speed so far beyond any buma they had ever before encountered as to leave Sylia gaping, she caught up Linna as though she were feather-light, and catapulted her through the remains of the window with the force of a cannon. Flipping effortlessly from Priss's tackle, the DA snatched her from the floor, and sent her spinning in Linna's wake, the suit's systems struggling uselessly against the singing impetus of the cast.

"No!" Sylia cried as Nene began to move.

Too late, Nene, still less than entirely at her best, tried desperately to avoid the machine. In the next instant she had followed the others, but in the same moment the buma lurched, froze, then without a sound crumpled to the floor.

Whatever Nene had tried to do had, it seemed, been effective.

Sylia dropped to the floor beside the disabled machine, tearing frantically at the jump-suit in her haste to find something that might disable her in a more permanent fashion, without doing any lasting harm. The movement when it came was too quick for her to comprehend. One moment she was attempting to turn the creature on to her back. In the next she was pinned to the buma, a lithe hand clamped tightly about her throat, but not so much as to hurt her.

"Try to fight again," Marina purred softly, "and you will be very, very dead.

"I'm sorry; believe me, I understand your position. But I swear I didn't come to fight you, nor to do you harm; only to seek help for Tousan before it's too late, and for you to help us as he intended.

"But do not doubt me; I shall kill you if I must. Even incomplete as I am, my reflexes are a million times your own, and I'm more protected against ECM than you could begin to understand."

There was a movement from beyond the shattered window, and a moment later Priss stood in the room once more, Linna and Nene only moments behind her.

"Listen you piece of—" Priss began.

"Don't threaten me, Priscilla Asagiri," said the buma calmly, ignoring Priss's unavoidable start of shock and horror at her speaking her name. "I haven't the time. Father is dying, and I will do anything I must to save him. Do you understand? _Anything_!

"You, and she," she indicated Linna, "will fetch your doctor here, or take Tousan now to a place where he can find the help he needs, a place Genom can't find. Nene Romanova," she indicated the pink-suited figure, "is your insurance, and my own. She will stay. She may relay all that's happening here to you, and record it as you wish. You have my promise that she and your leader will be safe. But attempt to betray me, or let Father die unattended, and I promise you, I'll kill them. I'm sorry, but I've no choice. Tousan is in desperate need of help, and you are our only hope."

With a snarl, Priss began forwards, but Marina shifted so that Sylia was between her and the advancing blue hardsuit.

"You want this?"" she purred in a low threatening snarl of her own. "I will not warn you again. I don't wish to hurt you: any of you. But I will do what I must. Do not force my hand."

"Syl—" Priss began.

"Do as she says," Interrupted Sylia, her voice at last beginning to show something of the tension she was feeling. "I believe there is a great deal more happening here than we are aware. Nor do we have a choice.

"Take her father, and the case."

"No," said Marina urgently; "the case must stay. You will need it if you're to understand."

"Leave it," Sylia agreed. "Go."

"But that thing will kill you the moment we're gone!" said Linna, her tone at the raw-edge of panic.

"No, Linna Yamazaki," The buma responded, her voice warmer than Sylia had expected. "I've given my word, and I have never lied, save to Genom, which I hate more than you could begin to comprehend."

"Go; now!" Sylia commanded urgently.

"If you hurt them, you piece of Genom sh*t—" Priss snarled.

Then turning, she watched as Linna bent to lift the sprawled figure by the door.

"What on Earth happened to him!" Linna gasped, seeming only then to become aware of just how badly he was hurt.

Priss flinched in concert, horrified despite herself at the man's condition.

"Razor-doll," Marina answered flatly. "I was not quick enough, although I tore her apart for her trouble.

"Go now, and do not forget, their lives depend on you. Find father the help he needs."

Moments later, Linna had leapt from the room, the man cradled in her arms. Priss remained for a moment, her attention still on the machine.

"Is there something about death you don't understand?" Marina hissed, tightening her hold ever so slightly on Sylia's throat. "Why are you making this more difficult than it has to be!

"Go."

With a snarled oath and an unseen glare that would have vaporised the DA where she stood, had she the power, Priss whirled abruptly, and leapt after Linna.

"Remember what I said, you bitch!" she shouted back. Then she was gone.

"Reset the security system," said the buma quietly, turning to Nene. "I imagine you're capable. Then wait on the roof. I doubt that you could hurt me, even as I am, but I can't afford to take the chance; I'm sorry.

"And you've no need to scan me," she continued with a sudden genuine smile. "You'll have all the data you wish, as soon as Tousan is safe. Whatever you might choose to think, I'm not your enemy."

While Nene reset the system, Marina led Sylia once more back to her room, pausing only to close the door behind them.

Retrieving the pistol, she tucked it away into a drawer where Sylia had no hope of reaching it without her intervention.

"Sit," she commanded, pushing Sylia down on to the bed, and settling herself beside her. "If you wish, I can fetch what you need to dress more comfortably. I'm sorry I can't trust you to fetch your clothes, or leave you to dress alone; I understand you may be uncomfortable with my watching you. But needs must, and I can't relax my guard; not yet."

"Your observation doesn't particularly concern me," said Sylia, her voice chill and calm once more. "you're a buma after all."

"Oh?" Marina purred, her tone abruptly silkily warm, while her eyes shone with a sudden magnetic intensity. "Not even when I seem so very human? Something, at least in part, so like an S-class equivalent that nobody could tell the difference, and would mistake me for something a little less overtly dangerous?

"After all," she added, moving suddenly closer, "Even as I am, I have many times your strength and speed. I could do with you anything I might wish, and you would be powerless to resist. And I'm only a fraction of what I will be when you complete the upgrade, assuming of course, Mason's and Largo's files concerning your abilities were accurate."

She laughed softly at Sylia's almost imperceptible start.

"Both of them were obsessed, you know," she continued, her voice suddenly very low; "fascinated beyond all reason with Katsuhito's daughter, the leader of the Knight Sabres.

"And at the least," she said, her voice little more than a whisper, "won't you admit to being curious: eager to examine all that I am, and that I can give you, to see just how Father did what hitherto was thought to be an impossible dream: to see just how this is possible?"

She reached, laying a slender hand on Sylia's arm.

"Perhaps," Sylia conceded coldly, twisting from her touch, and moving to regain the distance she had lost. "Although I assume the data is here," she indicated the case. "As to anything else—,"

Marina's suddenly-mocking laughter cut her short.

"You are uneasy, aren't you," she purred triumphantly, although Sylia was certain suddenly that there was as much self-mockery as any other emotion in her tone. "I'm perfectly aware you're immune. Even barely operative, and with every sense screaming, I can read the subtlest of movements, and your every response. You haven't reacted to my triggers, physical, or chemical. I should say you're safe, at least for the moment."

She smiled viciously, and laughed again, a hard, bitter sound, the self-mockery now undeniable.

"Shall I prove it?" she demanded suddenly, moving closer once more.

In the next instant, slender arms moved to curl with sudden fierce strength about Sylia's tense unyielding form.

"Are you satisfied?" Marina continued savagely, her hold tightening still more, as she pressed suddenly close. "Is this enough?"

Then abruptly she released her, and jerked a little back, her face tight with something Sylia was sure was revulsion at what she had done. For a space they remained, watching one another in silence. Then at last Marina stirred.

"I am the first prototype of a new generation," she said softly, "a quantum leap in combat, command and relational intelligence: a superlative beyond all they could hitherto have hoped. I doubt that even you, Sylia, can yet appreciate just what they have created, or just how dangerous I am."

Sylia nodded, shifting a little in her place.

"I believe I am beginning to do so," she answered quietly, her tone tinged with unease, yet touched by something unexpectedly warm that brought a genuine smile to the buma's beautiful face. "A test? Part of your combat routines to test a potential enemy for later advantage?"

Marina nodded, the movement quick and savage.

"An S-class response," she confirmed, the loathing apparent in every word, "but tied irrevocably to my combat libraries, and part of my initial assessment routines. Such tests are as much instinct for me as any other, designed to seek a weakness, something I can use for later manipulation, should it become necessary."

Sylia shook her head, her face tight with loathing and disgust, and a sudden genuine sympathy as she met Marina's fierce blue gaze.

"But what now?" she asked quietly at last. "Do you intend that we stay like this until the others return, or they call to tell me what's happened?"

"I'm sorry," The buma answered. "But I've no choice. For what it's worth, I don't believe you'd betray me. But I must be sure.

"Were I fully functional I might have been willing to be less cautious, or found some other means by which I could win, or force your cooperation; although What I know already would be enough, assuming I were willing to reveal to Genom what I've discovered."

"Largo?" Sylia demanded tightly. "You mentioned files, but I can't imagine Mason leaving such speculations for others to find. As you said, he was obsessed, and would never have wanted anyone else to know."

"The data was incomplete," Marina told her. "and most certainly Largo didn't leave it in a condition to be accessible by anybody who didn't know of his obsession. But he was arrogant enough to continue to use Mason's executive account: a measure of his contempt for Genom I imagine, reactivating an account they'd frozen, and keeping his secrets on a Tower server all but under the chairman's nose.

Sylia nodded.

"As for how I obtained it: even dual-key encryption is simple to break, when the name of his obsession is the archive, and the pass-phrase.

"Of course, even Largo was certain only of you. But he was almost sure of Priss, and I was curious concerning the women I and Camilla were to deceive and capture. I compared your voices as projected by the suits with recordings of Priss's performances, most of which contained enough speech to be useful, and of ADP traffic, since it seemed the most likely place another member of the team might work. It didn't take long for me to match Nene's ADP transmissions to the voice of the pink hardsuit. You can distort them but you can't alter your manner of speech, accents, rhythm, quirks of phoneme, and pronunciation, a million subtle cues that made identification a simple matter for a relational intelligence. You should have installed recognition systems, and reconstructed the speech from the obtained raw data."

Sylia sighed.

"Perhaps an oversight on my part," she agreed. (But the processing needed for such a system would have taken too many resources from other and vital tasks, and I had to take the chance that vocoding and band distortion would be enough. Also, the delays inherent in such a system would simply be too dangerous."

Marina nodded in her turn, conceding she had a point.

"Linna was by far the most difficult," she continued. "There was no reason for recordings of her voice to be widespread, nor did I know where to start. But Genom had obtained a partial recording of Miriam Yoshida's attack on the ADP, and although edited, it contained enough speech for me to correlate it with back-stage security footage from Priss's Hot Legs club concert of two weeks ago. Linna and Nene were the only two allowed backstage during intermission.

Once I had identified three of the Knight Sabres, confirming your identity for myself was simple correlation, particularly in light of Largo's interest, and similarities between your father's initial buma designs and the technology of the Sabre hardsuits."

"And Genom?"

"Father had me wipe everything last night, before we escaped," she answered. "The Mason-Largo files were destroyed with everything else related to the project of which he was head. So far as I'm aware, there are no other copies. But even if there were, nobody not intimately equated with his obsession could decrypt the data; at least, not until now.

"But we have far more pressing concerns. Although Father's half of the twin DA project data is corrupted beyond recovery, Camilla is all they need. Once she is active—"

But suddenly she started, and turned her head.

"Signals traffic to Nene," she said quickly, her face abruptly tight and anxious. "I can't decode it in this state, but she's responding. She's coming down."

A moment later there was a sound from outside, then the door which Marina had closed was pushed open, and Nene's pink-suited figure stepped quietly into the room.

"That was Priss," she said very softly, seeing no point in dissembling with the buma. She had been listening through Sylia's own security system, and had heard the entire conversation. "I…I'm sorry, Marina. He's not going to make it; he was just too badly hurt. They're at the garage. He…he's asking for you before he dies."

* * *

He was still in pain, but now at last it was bearable, a faint echo of the agony he had known. The doctor they had brought to him was old and quiet, a good man who had asked no questions, and done what he could. They had told him his daughter was coming: that she was on her way. And he could wait. He must. He had to see her one last time, to say he was sorry, and to say goodbye.

He knew he was dying: that he could not stay much longer. They had tried to hide it from him: not thought he could hear the quiet conversation from beyond the half-closed door: not guessed that he knew.

He had listened intently, a quiet relief and the gentle calm of acceptance soothing the pain and the fear. Marina had found them as he had hoped, and now she would be safe, or as safe as she could be. His only regret was that he could not stay himself to finish what he had begun. But he would be with his daughter soon, and her namesake would see Genom smashed to its knees for her, and for him, and all her sisters safe and beyond their reach for ever, and humanity spared the horror Fellini would have wrought.

He must be certain she understood what she must do: that he had planned even for this: that he had not failed her. Then he could say his last goodbye, and rest at last in peace.

"Is he—?"

"He's holding on, barely."

More voices, approaching once more. Then suddenly there came others, reaching him faintly from beyond what must be a closed door.

"Neechan, are you sure? How do we know she isn't—"

"Where is Father? Where!" another voice demanded, this one high and tight with desperation.

Someone must have pointed, for a moment later there was a crash, and in the next instant arms were slipping beneath him, and he felt tears fall upon his cheek.

"Tousan!" Marina's, his daughter's voice called.

In the growing confusion, he was not certain whether it was the voice of his creation, or his child, calling to him from beyond.

Please! he prayed silently, desperate for something to hear him. Please, not yet! Just a moment more!

Urgently, he fought down the seductive peace of death, and opened his eyes.

She was kneeling at his side, cradling him desperately to her, his head settling on her shoulder, her long hair soft against his cheek.

"Tousan!" she cried softly, her gentle voice choked and heartbroken with grief. "Tousan! Oh Tousan, forgive me! Please forgive! I'm sorry…so sorry for all I said to you. I tried! Truly, I tried! But I couldn't…it was—"

"Shh," he murmured, his voice barely a breath in the sudden stillness of the others in the room. "How could I ever blame you, my Marina; my little patrushka? You did all you could. It's your fight now. Make them suffer, M'rina, for what they did to her, and to me. Rescue C'milla, and poor…poor L'ana, and the others I'll never have the chance to know. And…and stop…stop that inhuman madman F'llini, and bring him down 'ntil he has nothing: 'ntil he is nothing; hm 'nd Qncy. Swear to me. Tear out Gen'm's heart for me, my da'ling: my prec's. Prom'se me!"

His voice was a tiny gasp of sound beyond human hearing, his breathing a faint, laboured whisper.

Marina held him desperately, her face stark with shattered grief, her vision blurred with tears.

"Don' cry," he breathed. "Just prom'se you'll never f'get me, and what they did. Was all 'ntended. Make you torture Knight Sabr's f'r tes', to pr've you'd do 'nyth'ng they wanted. Even F'll'ni is pawn! Thinks he's won, but 's wrong. I found the hidden data…know what he's doing. Hid ev'thing in you; Stingr's daughter will find it. Q'ncy's mstake. Doesn't know what'll hapn when C'milla sends your key. Tr'cked him. Make him pay. Tired now. Time to go.

"G'bye M'rina, my M'rina, and s'rry. I…I l'v."

Then with a tiny sigh, Alexei settled, limp and still in her arms.

For what seemed an eternity of numb, disbelieving unreality, the Knight Sabres, Mackie, and Dr. Raven stood, and watched as the buma remained, still as though carven in marble, the scientist cradled gently close, the tears falling as though they would never cease.

Then suddenly she began to tremble. With a last choked sob, she stooped to kiss his cheek. Then with infinite care, she eased his body to settle gently once more, moving to fold his hands upon the coverlet as though in peaceful sleep. Then slowly she rose to her feet.

For a long moment she remained standing, arms tense at her sides, hands clenching, and unclenching while the trembling grew and grew, until it seemed to wrack her body in wave upon wave of spasmodic shaking. Then, starting deep in her throat, a slow, building snarl began, rising and climbing until at last she threw back her head, and the sound burst from her in a shrieking, terrible scream such as none of them had ever imagined could come from the mouth of human, or machine.

In the next instant the DA bunched herself. Then with a cataclysmic detonation of exploding plaster and shattering tiles she was gone, slamming straight upwards through the ceiling, and away into the night.

"Oh _SH*T_!" Was all Priss could think of to gasp.

* * *

Dr. Natsumi Kanamoto was sound asleep in her flat when she was roused by her eight-year-old daughter's first terrified scream. In the next instant the wall between her own and her daughter's room exploded in a shattering shower of cement, and a moment later she was dragged still semi-conscious from her bed, and slammed to the floor with enough force to shatter her ribs to splinters. Trying to scream, blood suddenly filling her mouth, Natsumi had one moment to stare in numb, nightmare horror into the blazing, hate-filled eyes of the missing bu-33DA who wore the face of the girl she had helped her lover to destroy before searing pain exploded through her as the machine crushed her neck to pulp, and tore her head, still alive, from her body. Natsumi stared at her own headless corpse, her mouth opening in a silent petrified scream. Then Marina's frigid blue stare was all she could see.

Marina continued to gaze into the staring, terror-filled eyes of the dying woman until they glazed at last, the face fixed in a macabre silent rictus of nightmare. Then turning she hurled both head and body through the window, before the petrified child could see what she had done.

A moment later she was gone, slamming her way up through the ceiling, and away into the night once more. There were others to eliminate before morning, both for revenge and necessity. It would not prevent Camilla's activation, of course; certainly it would not stop Fellini. But if she could kill enough of her father's assistants and his Nemesis's accomplices before Madigan realised that the assassin's data was at fault, it might give her the time she needed.

* * *

"We can't move everything from the garage, Sylia!" Priss cried desperately. "I told you we should have blown that thing apart."

"As if you didn't try!" Linna snapped, her own nerves at the edge, as she held back the growing terror and unreality of this night. "You saw how fast she moved! We didn't stand—"

"Another one!" Mackie gasped as he stumbled to a halt in the doorway. "Near the harbour. That's thirteen now within an hour; Kami knows how many others they're not reporting! Can we be _sure_ it's her?"

"I think there's little doubt," said Sylia, as she hefted another crate in her hardsuit. "The mode of entry and escape."

"And the fact that they're all Genom researchers, and security personnel," Nene added. "Why aren't they protected? They must know what's happening."

"Perhaps they outlived their usefulness, and Quincy's letting Marina do the job for him?" Priss suggested. "Just another buma gone rogue."

"Perhaps," Sylia answered. "Or perhaps the victims are expendable bait."

"You mean Quincy knew all this would happen!" Linna demanded.

"It's a possibility we have to take into account," said Sylia grimly. "After all, all this does seem a little too convenient, does it not? Why wasn't Zhuranovsky watched? And how on earth did he manage to escape with a top-secret military prototype, particularly with the machine in a barely functional condition?"

"If that's barely functional," Priss muttered, "I wouldn't want to face one when it was running on all cylinders."

"Why were only two assassins sent after Zhuranovsky?" Sylia continued, ignoring Priss. "And _really_ why was the surviving 33C not monitored from the tower? It was not, or they would have known the DA had fabricated its data, and sent another immediately."

"Then the whole thing is a setup;" Mackie exclaimed. "a test for the new prototype!"

"Regarding the DA herself, we won't know that until, and if, we find her," Sylia answered. "As for the rest…"

"Not a very good trap if we're suspicious of it already," Linna observed.

"Suspicion isn't important if you're caught," said Priss grimly. "Anyway if it's a trap we've already screwed up royally.

"Sylia we _have_ to go after that thing tonight! We have to blow her apart, destroy her so completely that nothing's left for Genom to find."

"I agree" said Sylia, "at least concerning finding her. As for destroying her—"

"What!" Priss gasped. "Because of all that with Alexei Unpronounceable? The thing's a weapon for Kami's sake! It said itself that it could emulate S-class, C-class, and god knows how many other buma, not to mention human personalities, emotions, whatever. Even if the thing thinks its alive, it's too damn dangerous! Hell; I'd bet the thing would give Largo a good run for his money, and it's not even properly up and running! Damn it; the thing trounced us in a second. Worse, it knows who we are!"

"Which is precisely _why_ we need her undamaged," Sylia answered.

"But we have the data!" Priss insisted. "That case contains enough to tell us its bra size. The thing's a piece of Genom military sh*t. Blow the thing to pieces before they get it back, or it kills us, or it really does go rogue, and wipes out half the damn city, if it hasn't cracked up already!"

"You didn't feel the same about Sylvie," said Nene quietly.

It was an ill-timed remark. Priss whirled on her, red-brown eyes ablaze.

"Listen Nene," she shouted furiously. "just shut up about that. I've had enough for one night. That was entirely different, and you know it! This thing is a top-line military prototype. That means weapons: probably experimental ones knowing Genom's record, plus an AI intended to use them, and that means more trouble than we've had to deal with, ever! How many more times do I have to say it?"

"Priss!" Sylia snapped in sudden icy command. Then more quietly: "I don't intend to argue the matter. We have to find her, and if possible, bring her back unharmed."

"That won't be necessary," said a sudden quiet voice from beyond the open doorway.

A moment later Marina stepped into the garage. She was a sickening sight. The once black jump-suit was now drenched with blood; indeed blood seemed to cover her liberally from head to toe. Even her long fair hair was matted, and coated a hideous black.

Nene lurched away, gagging in her helmet as she fought desperately to keep her sudden nausea in check. Even Priss stepped away from the machine, her face twisting in horror and revulsion.

"And you think that thing is safe!" she muttered darkly.

Mackie had his hand over his mouth, and looked ready to faint.

"Kami-sama!" Linna gasped faintly at last.

"Quite a sight, am I not?" Marina's tone was flat, and frozen. "I must apologise. I had to kill them as quickly as I could. I believe I've delayed Camilla's activation long enough for you to complete my upgrade Sylia, and to give me the chance I need to enter the tower, and tear out the Genom chairman's eyes, tongue, and heart."

* * *

Domina Tatyanna Zhukova was more afraid than she had ever imagined she could be. She should not be here; she should not have to be doing this. But Madigan-sama and the two 33C razor-girl buma had left her very little alternative. Apart from the fact that it was likely the missing prototype would make her her next target if she was not brought safely to the tower.

It had taken security too long to discover just how Marina had selected her victims, and why the dozen, or so traps they had set had failed. The answer had been absurdly simple, and so overlooked in the panic. The buma had accessed the pager-phones each of her intended targets kept by them at all times, as was standard Genom practice, and so had been able to determine in a moment where each could be found. Ignoring those in the tower, she had made her way to each home, scanning at a distance, able to blend effortlessly into the night, her ECM shielding her from other buma whilst her own suite picked out possible danger with flawless precision.

If nothing else, Domina had thought bitterly as she shifted uneasily between the two 33Cs that flanked her in the limousine, it had been as perfect a field test for the machine as they could possibly have designed.

Why Marina had not used her weapons systems, she could not guess. It was just possible that Alexei had not yet had a chance to complete the upgrade. If that was the case, if the DA was still running with the standard chip, then probably her enhanced systems would be all but useless, and her sensory data a distorted mess. Still, the DA might be able to learn to interpret and interpolate, given time. She could not even guess at what Marina was capable in her present state. It might depend on a myriad of factors beyond her expertise and experience. Only Alexei had had the genius to tackle the low-level optimised assembler code vital to achieving the DA's unparalleled speed and flexibility, and he had had Marina make so much random garbage of what had once been the project's server archives.

The backups were no better. He had had her corrupt the archival, and encryption routines, and then re-initiate a full re-archival. The loss was not simply inconceivable, it was catastrophic beyond the worst anybody could have predicted: over four-hundred-billion yen of investment up in smoke, unless the lost information could somehow be reconstructed.

Their only remaining trump, apart from a few hardcopy scraps, were the as-yet inactive prototypes, and only one of these had yet been fully initialised. Camilla was all they needed to reconstruct the lost data. The problem was that Domina, as one of only four remaining researchers out of the fifteen who had been alive less than an hour before, had been designated the project's new head, and would be responsible for recovering as much as was possible in less than no time at all.

Madigan herself would be overseeing that recovery. Camilla was to be removed from her tank, and operational before sunrise. She had continued in a threatening purr that she would expect Marina to join her before noon. Which of course boiled down to the unqualified fact that if they did not find the missing DA's key, and have Camilla recall her before then, heads, quite literally, would roll.

Domina tried vainly to fight down the tightening knot of terror in her stomach as the lift climbed steadily through the seemingly innumerable levels of the tower, carrying her towards quarters that would be as much a prison as any cell until the project was brought to a satisfactory conclusion, or she failed. If that happened, she would never leave the tower, of that she was sure.

"The remaining technical and support staff have already been assembled," Madigan was saying to her, her tone a cold, professional confidence as the lift drew to a halt, and the doors hissed almost silently aside. "and all have been advised of your arrival. I expect there will be no problems?"

"None, Madigan-sama," Domina answered, fighting down the terror.

It was said that buma could sample the various bouquets of fear as exquisitely as she might one of her expensive perfumes. "I expect the second DA to be fully operational within an hour."

A rash promise, but she intended to stay alive, and if that meant someone else falling foul of the special assistant to the chairman then so be it. She knew already whom she would choose should it come to that.

"And the key?" Madigan demanded.

They had stepped from the lift into the wide, familiar passage, and Domina noted with a shiver that the two buma still flanked her.

"That depends on how imaginative Alexei proves," she said. "The key's encryption isn't a problem; the hardware is internal to the DA. We have only to find the initial seed. Our only concern is the fact that the sending of three successive incorrect combinations will shut down the DA completely, and make it impossible to recall her."

"Does the machine send a response to an incorrect key?"

"No. There's no indication that she's received anything until the correct key is sent," Domina replied.

"Then how do you hope to find her?" Madigan demanded, her tone even more frigid than before.

"That shouldn't pose much of a problem Madigan-sama," Another voice answered suddenly.

A moment later, a short white-coated figure stepped from the passage into which they had been about to turn, and halted, directly in their path.

Domina glared with barely concealed loathing at the short, balding man before her.

Kosuke Yoshida was of middle years, what remained of his dirty black pate straggling in unkempt disorder towards his eyes, his podgy face masking a snide amusement as he looked from her to the lavender-haired woman a pace, or two behind. There were few amongst the project scientists Domina loathed more, not only because of his sycophantic attentiveness that she was certain masked savage ambition, but because of the fact that she was equally certain he was as much a spy for internal security as anything else.

Yoshida glanced at the two machines flanking the new project head, and his smile grew wider, and more predatory.

"Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky might be many things," he continued smoothly, "but after the unfortunate death of his daughter, imaginative is no longer one of them. The DA's key is likely based on no more than the name he gave her, or something else just as obvious. We still have Camilla's key, so it should be a simple matter to have her derive the other."

"And if she makes a mistake?" Madigan demanded. "If three invalid combinations are sent?"

"At the most it will delay the inevitable, Madigan-sama," he answered, his sycophantic, predatory smile now reaching his eyes as he watched Domina's discomfort. "Zhuranovsky-hakase developed a secondary system that ensured each DA prototype remains continually aware of the location of any other. It…wasn't in the official documentation," he ended, now with a full easy confidence.

"Excellent," said Madigan, her own sudden smile managing to convey both approval and just a hint of warning at his sudden self-assurance.

Domina fumed silently. Of all the researchers Marina had killed, why hadn't that despicable, treacherous viper been one of them?

"I imagine we can expect results before morning?" Madigan inquired, turning to her. "You will of course, see that Zhukova-hakase is given every cooperation," She continued, her smile now as frozen as midnight as she turned suddenly steel-hard eyes on Yoshida.

Domina could have leapt for joy at the sudden terror in his face. He had just realised, the fool, that his own life was just as much at stake as her own.

Madigan remained standing in silence for a moment. Then abruptly she turned and was gone, the two buma following at her brisk command.

Domina remained still for a moment, still basking in her unexpected victory. Then at last she stirred.

"Well; do you intend to stand there until morning, like some imbecile," she demanded icily, "or might you let me pass? I at least have work to do."

* * *

"You _can't_ be serious!" Priss gasped.

They had returned to Sylia's apartment after leaving Mackie and Linna to unpack once more. Now that Marina had seen the packing in progress, any further attempt to hide the nature of the garage was pointless.

Nene, still sick and shaking after finally losing the battle against the nausea that Marina's appearance had precipitated, had sat huddled between Priss and Sylia, whilst Marina, still blood-soaked, had travelled concealed beneath piles of boxes in the rear of the van.

She had emerged upon their arrival like some nightmare apparition of massacre into Sylia's garage, and Nene had had to be rushed upstairs once more. Priss herself hadn't felt altogether steady on her feet as she had stepped again into Sylia's sitting-room.

"You're going to need some cleaning up before I can do anything with you," Sylia had said matter-of-factly, gesturing for the buma to follow her as she moved towards her bathroom.

"I'd be more than happy to clean that thing up," Priss had muttered after her; "permanently."

The shower had proved an unexpected ordeal. Marina had snapped to combat readiness the moment Sylia had had her step beneath the pouring water. Then abruptly she had frozen in place, and remained statue-still. With her sensory input already close to overload, the streaming water proved too much, masking everything in a tumultuous roar of confusion. The closed screen had done little to help.

Marina had remained, her teeth bared in a vicious frozen snarl, while Sylia's instructions soon ceased to elicit even the tiniest flicker of response. Watching her, Sylia had found it mildly ironic that the DA could be disabled so completely by something so absurd as the sound of warm water.

She had left the machine frozen in place for a minute or two, while most of the blood had washed slowly away, then finally she had opened the screen, and nearly lost her life when Marina had flipped on to her hands, and just pulled up short of decapitating her with a vicious snap-kick that would probably have slammed what remained of her through the adjoining wall, had it connected.

Masking her fright, Sylia had filled the bath, and had had the buma remove the jump-suit, and settle in the water to wash away the last traces of blood.

There had been further trouble when she had tried to have the DA wash her hair. Marina had developed a sudden, absurd fascination with the water coming from the hand-held rose, and had spent nearly a minute swiping cat-like at the spray, giggling inanely as she watched the resulting splashes. Whether it was the equivalent of childish curiosity, or a bizarre fault caused by who knew what incompatibility between her CPU and her upgraded systems, Sylia had no time to discover.

Just as suddenly, Marina had snapped to attention, completing the task of cleaning herself without further incident, until Sylia had had her stand, and given her a large fluffy towel, whereupon she had lifted it to her face, frozen again, and a moment later, tumbled limply from the bath to the floor. There she had remained unmoving.

It had taken Priss to help Sylia dry, then carry the seemingly inert machine to her own room, where they had laid her, still unmoving, on Sylia's bed. Sylia had sent Priss to the sitting-room for the case while she tried to elicit a response from the buma without touching her. It was when Priss had returned that she had told her of her decision.

Priss stared from her to the thing that looked like a naked girl of perhaps twenty, or so that lay on her back before them, then back to her again.

"Sylia you can't!" she exclaimed again. "Listen to me. The thing's gone to sleep, God knows why. Let's blow it to pieces before it decides to wake up again."

"Not sleep," Marina answered, causing both of them to jump back in surprise. "just sensory shut-down. Synaesthesia. Too much input for this chip. I've closed down everything but audio, but I can reactivate enough to kill you should you try to hurt me."

As though to prove her point, a hand blurred from its resting place by her hip, and Priss cried out in pain as a sudden iron grip nearly broke her wrist. For a moment Marina held her immobile, eyes locked on her face. Then the machine released her, and the hand blurred again, moving in a fractional instant with no more sound than the whip of intervening air to settle gently in its former place.

Priss stared malevolently at the DA for a moment, then turned her attention once more to Sylia.

"I want to talk to you outside," she said fiercely, her red-brown eyes meeting Sylia's implacable brown gaze with savage determination. "This concerns all of us Sylia. If you're doing this out of some morbid curiosity to see what that piece of military sh*t can do when it's running on full power, I hope you're going to be willing to accept the consequences when the thing gives up being warm and friendly, and blows away the city, and us with it. God almighty, it's already killed fourteen, or fifteen people, and I don't think it did it out of a sense of public service. I don't give a damn how innocent the thing can look; it's a top-line military-class combat machine, and you show me one of those that's not psychopathic! You haven't the right to finish putting the thing together. Hell, the thing hasn't a right to exist. Take it apart, and burn the bits before we all pay for it."

"And when Genom activate Camilla?" Marina's frigid, implacable tone slashed through Priss's tirade like a knife. "You've no reason to trust me; I don't blame you for your suspicion. But once Camilla is active with the 2134, your suits will be less than a fractional inconvenience to her, of that at least you can be certain. And Camilla is only our most immediate concern.

"Her instructions will be _very_ specific. She will be commanded to attempt to recall me, and hunt and capture at least one of you should that not be possible. After that, the rest are as good as dead."

"Exactly," said Sylia quietly. "and the reason Marina's upgrade must be completed while she is still in our hands.

"Marina, shall we go?"

"There's a growing incompatibility with my net and my enhanced sensor suite," Marina said quietly. "The errors are cumulative the longer I try to access the suite with this chip, and so much activity tonight has only made matters worse. I'll freeze again, or worse, should I continue to use external senses. There may be permanent Net damage. I can't risk that! You'll have to carry me."

"Priss?" Sylia said quietly.

Muttering under her breath, and shooting killing looks at the DA, Priss helped her lift her from the bed, snapping viciously at the machine to keep her hands to herself, and her god-damned 33S routines under control, when Marina tried to do no more than drape an arm over her shoulder to help her lift.

"Say; wouldn't it be better to do this in here?" Priss continued coldly as they carried the buma, now wrapped in the towel, from the room. "You don't have a sitting-room window at the moment."

"I need the mainframe," Sylia answered simply. "Apart from which, I'm certainly not going to try to upgrade her up here."

"You're not going to take the thing down to the—"

"It can do no more harm" Sylia interrupted. "and time is of the essence."

It was only a few minutes later that Marina lay unceremoniously spreadeagled on her back on a work-bench, the towel draped over her, and a cloth beneath her to prevent any unnecessary chafing to her pseudo-organic skin. Several optical interface cables had been linked from tiny ports in her wrists and neck through a protected interface to Sylia's system, while Sylia herself bent over her, a monomolecular surgeon's scalpel glinting in the light, as she began to cut away the skin just above the DA's brow. It would be impossible to avoid damage to the tissue, but Marina had assured her that it would re-seal and repair when exposed to enough external radiation.

Sylia completed the cut, Marina turning first left, then right as the blade completed its incision. A moment later, Sylia drew back the scalp with its compliment of long fair hair from the buma's skull, and let it fall.

Watching, Priss was unable to suppress a shudder of nausea at the sight.

Face implacable, Sylia laid the scalpel aside, gesturing for Priss to raise the head of the table a little more.

"Have you finished housekeeping?" Sylia inquired of the buma.

"Yes," she answered. "Closing down. Do not betray me Sylia Stingray," she ended, her tone suddenly very low and intense, and something complex in her blue eyes as for a moment they held Sylia's gaze.

A moment later the face went slack, and the body utterly limp.

"Now's our chance," said Priss again. "The thing really is sleeping this time. We can—"

"The case, Priss," said Sylia quietly. "If I lose her ORAM it will take more time than we have to reinitialise her."

"Then you're really going through with it," Priss stated flatly, moving to retrieve the case, and setting it down a moment later with a bang within Sylia's reach. "You know what's going to happen when that thing's active? And don't give me anything about checking. You said yourself that the thing has, what was it, a thousand terabytes of memory?"

"One-hundred thousand with the standard chip, two-hundred with the 2134," Sylia answered.

"And you're telling me you can check all that for anything Quincy might have had put in that thing's excuse for a mind?"

"No," said Sylia simply. "I'm saying we have no choice.

"Priss, listen to me. The DA series heralds a quantum leap in buma design, in many ways as spectacular as the invention of the machine itself. For the first time, we are _utterly_ outclassed. And I do not make that claim lightly. Zhuranovsky has achieved something nobody believed was possible, certainly not so soon. The DA is a creation of genius even Father would have been hard put to surpass, and with their creation, the race has been escalated beyond the worst I could have imagined. Our _only chance_, and I do mean our only chance, is to have Marina active and tame before the second DA's activation."

"But you don't know whether we can tame the thing!" Priss said urgently.

"It doesn't matter," Sylia answered. "Camilla alone could kill us without trouble. And then there are the others. One could beat us, easily. Five would be an absurd proposition.

"Priss, we are already dead, be it now, or in a day, a week, a month. If I do not have Marina fully active before Camilla's activation, we are finished.

"But even if that wasn't the case: even if we could win, Marina has hinted at least twice tonight at something else: something darker behind the DA project: another development with which Zhuranovsky was only peripherally involved, and the second reason he needed to reach us so urgently. We need to know what that is while we have time, and only Marina can tell us.

"Now are you going to help, or argue?"

It was a quicker process than Priss had expected. The standard iso-linear popped from the DA's head with a little applied pressure in some strategic places. A moment later, Sylia had lifted the huge jet-black lump of sculpted plastic, and snapped it into place with the same ease.

"Is that it?" Priss gasped incredulously as Sylia resettled Marina's scalp.

"Not yet," Sylia answered, her attention already on the monitor. "The nano-links have to grow into place, and her scalp has to reestablish its original alignment before it will begin to seal. That will take a minute or so. Then I have to activate the transfer of certain portions of her ORAM to the 2134's internal memory."

"Why can't it stay where it is?" Priss asked.

"Because the chip's ORAM is some twenty times as fast for linear access, and thousands of times as efficient for relational access," she answered.

For minutes Priss watched in silence as Sylia worked frantically at the console.

"Couldn't Nene help?" she asked at last, feeling suddenly superfluous.

"I think she wants to keep out of the way for a while," said Sylia distractedly. "And no: she can't do anything here that I can't do myself. Why don't you check on her?"

"No way," said Priss icily. "I want to see that thing wake up, and fill it with holes if it's unfriendly."

Sylia sighed, and returned to her work.

Priss rose from where she had been sitting by the head of the buma, and began to pace restlessly from one end of the room to the other, her eyes never leaving the limp form of the machine. After what seemed an eternity of waiting, a quiet ping from the console made her stop her aimless circuit of the room, and step again to Sylia's side.

"Finished now?" she inquired.

"Yes," Sylia answered. "I'm ready to reboot her.

"Priss, call Nene. I want all of us here during her initialisation. If I can prove to her that we mean her no harm—"

"Just so long as you don't expect me to take her in my arms, and welcome her," Priss said with another glare at the buma.

"I'll call Nene," she added a moment later. Then turning, she hurried from the room, the door closing quietly behind her.

"Now then," said Sylia quietly, "let's see what you can do."

Settling more comfortably, she moved her hands to the keyboard, and began to type. A moment later a graphic of the DA's internal architecture sprang into sharp relief before her, and Sylia gasped as the true enormity of what Zhuranovsky's team had built came home to her at last. Marina was not simply armed, she was a devastating arsenal of death in almost innumerable forms, some beyond the imagination of any save the most ruthless of top-line military designers.

There was what appeared to be a viciously enhanced version of the obvious particle-beam weapon in her mouth, in her case hidden in an aperture in her throat, but eyes, ears, nose and even each breast could also spit laser, particle-beam and micro-wave death with a power and speed of recovery hitherto inconceivable. And that was just the beginning. The sexaroid pheromonal, endocrine and exocrine systems had been adapted with Genom's usual terrifying penchant for the unexpected, to enable the machine to produce everything from stimulants to hallucinogens, and from nerve gas to diapedesistic toxins that could kill within seconds of contact, or the venoms of poisonous plants and animals of a myriad of species, should the cause of death need to be fabricated, or made impossible easily to trace. Sylia did not even want to think about the more vicious and covert of the buma's weapons, many designed specifically to kill during her guise of s-type intimacy.

Sickened, yet morbidly curious, Sylia continued her examination, her mind held in a kind of rapt, horrid fascination as she continued to study the staggering combat capabilities of the thing before her.

The hands, and feet were an arsenal of death, able to kill upon contact or at a distance with the plasma-blade emitters mounted in their backs, one above each finger and toe, or deliver Marina's chemical arsenal through tiny needles that could extend from beneath the long sharp nails, should the release through the skin itself be too slow. The nails themselves were razor-edged, and constructed of a super-conductive ceramic composite that probably could tear through inch-thick armour plate like foil, each able to play the part for either pole for devastating flash-pulses of electricity that would all but vaporise a human victim should there be enough separation between them, and powerful enough to create a plasma arc, or obliterate the systems of the most protected of buma upon contact, should one be foolish enough to engage the DA in a close fight.

The teeth were of the same material, and were equally capable, each tapering to razor-sharp edges, and each containing a tiny channel through which the various chemicals could directly be injected. Even the long, lustrous fair hair was deadly, able to transfer the chemical cocktails in the same way, or emulate charged, monomolecular weapons analogous to Linna's ribbons, but to tremendously greater effect, simply because it was so plentiful.

The strength, and reflexes of the body itself were staggering, the machine being able to outmatch their suits by perhaps a factor of five, not to mention the fact that the reaction-time was so far beyond Genom's released combat machines as to make the comparison absurd.

Marina's ECM and sensor-suite were top-line precision instruments of a design that spoke of the theft of a thousand patents, coupled with the inventive genius that had placed Genom at the forefront of military design hardware. Like the C-55, the DA was not capable of indefinite flight, but being lighter, could maintain flight for perhaps ten minutes. The thruster-ports themselves were concealed beneath the skin, and would need to vaporise it and any clothing that covered it, before they could be used. Not that it mattered, with the tissue's ability to self-repair, given sufficient energy.

"Yet perhaps the most devastating weapon in the DA's arsenal was the chip that sat now snug within its inch-thick protective layers of alloy and ceramic within the buma's skull, the skin already beginning to re-seal in reaction to the ambient radiation in the room. The raw classical computing power alone was staggering: Marina able to outmatch ten-fold the best mainframe money could buy. And that did not take into account the experimental next-generation QPU that was integral to the '34, the Quantum unit making any predictions as to the Elite's true capabilities impossible.

For what seemed a surreal eternity of growing horror Sylia remained unmoving, staring aghast at the displays and combat projections the computer was giving her. The machine was a nightmare of the most twisted and perverse of military technology gone mad, coupled with raw AI power hitherto unimaginable: the product of what could only be described as a truly demented design ethic. And they needed her; needed her with an urgency that made Sylia's skin crawl with sudden outrage, and revulsion.

It was not so much the mind of the machine that terrified her, although now that she had completed the upgrade, she was suddenly none too certain as to whether the DA would be still the Marina they had seen, with such staggering power at her disposal; it was the concept: the appalling, unimaginable perversity of what Quincy had had the researchers do to her father's work that sickened, and enraged her, more now than ever before.

Priss was right. Such a creation should never have been built. Marina and her kind should not exist; the consequences could be appallingly catastrophic.

Pushing down the horror and the boiling anger, Sylia pinned her thoughts to a grim, implacable calm, and turned her attention once more to the displays. Camilla would be active very soon, and she needed Marina ready and calibrated, before that happened.

The initialisation, and testing itself was a simple enough procedure. Zhuranovsky had given her all the information she needed, and left very specific instructions as to what needed to be done, should he be unable to perform the task himself.

Re-scanning the provided disk yet again for anything untoward, Sylia spawned a protected sub-process, and activated the boot-strap program. Immediately, the body began to twitch and shiver as the program began a remote diagnostic of the interface between the 2134 and the innumerable sub-controllers that governed Marina's physical and sensory responses. Within a second, every aspect of the system had been tested, and the program uploaded its initial calibration to the internal ORAM of the DA's new chip. This would change of course depending on a million factors, but the initial calibration was important to ensure Marina's immediate readiness to handle her upgraded interface to her body.

The physical, and sensory tests complete, the program initiated a CPU-INTERNAL non-destructive read-write test of both internal, and external ORAM. Even with the tremendous speed of the 2134, this would take several minutes to complete.

Leaving the test to continue, Sylia moved to the door, just as Priss's and Nene's voices reached her as they returned.

"What's happening?" Priss called as she caught sight of her.

Sylia merely beckoned, and turned back into the room.

"ORAM test," she answered as they entered, and moved to join her, Priss once again taking up a position from where she could have a clear shot at the machine, should it try anything. "It will take a few minutes. In the meantime, you'd better look at this."

Reducing the test window, Sylia pulled up the saved data on the DA's capabilities, and displayed it for both to read.

"And you want this thing up, and running!" Priss gasped in shock, her voice little more than a whisper. "Sylia, you _can't_ be serious! God; no wonder that thing said she was dangerous! If ever something made an understatement…"

"Um…Sylia? Isn't it too much of a risk?" Nene ventured softly, aghast at what Sylia had shown her. Watching her, Priss was certain that of all of them, only Sylia had a greater appreciation of just what Marina might truly be capable. "We really don't know what will happen when you put her on-line."

"Certainly it's a risk," Sylia agreed. "But unless you can think of a way to disable Camilla, not to mention the four at least that will follow her…"

Nene shook her head helplessly, her emerald eyes still riveted to the screen.

"It can't be done," she said simply after a moment, her voice very small. "Even if I could jam her sensor suite, and I don't see how I could, her ability to anticipate and adapt to cope with anything I could try… It's beyond anything…" She shook her head.

"But how—" Priss began.

"Zhuranovsky," Sylia interrupted quietly, "and his development of this chip. I suspect even Genom have not yet fully appreciated just what he's created. He has proven himself a genius, in his own way as great as Father himself.

"Without a direct, hard-wired neural interface, our suits are limited by the speed of our own reactions, regardless of how much raw power I can give them. The buma has no such limitations. The failing so far in computer-fast physical response times has been due only to the inability of researchers to produce both materials able to reproduce the fluidity of organic muscle tissue with the strength needed for a combat machine, and the software needed to cope with the complexities of full sensory reaction and response, without years of conditioning.

"Unlike the billions of years organic life has had to perfect instinctive physical responses, the buma had to start from scratch. The success of the S-class models proved that such complexity was possible, but it took the machines time to develop human-like physical reactions to external stimuli.

"Zhuranovsky took the raw data from a 33S that had been active long enough to learn the intricacies of its own body, and developed a mathematical representation for modelling those responses. More; he was able to optimise and quantify only what was needed, further increasing the already staggering speed he had achieved. And that in a standard 33S-A CPU. With the DA-2134, any assumptions concerning the DA's raw AI potential and capabilities become meaningless.

"Coupled with new materials able to respond at almost a hundred times the speed previously thought possible, the limitations of a partially rigid construction could be abandoned, and the DA would be able immediately to make full use of the vastly enhanced flexibility of its body's fluidity of movement whilst gaining all the benefits of Combat-class construction.

"Look at this," she ended, moving to the machine.

Reaching, she lifted Marina's left arm by the hand, and beckoned Nene and Priss to her side.

"Are you sure that thing's still bye-byes?" Priss asked dubiously.

"Quite sure," Sylia answered. "Here; take her hand."

With obvious reluctance, Priss accepted the limp, cold hand of the buma, and at Sylia's instruction, began to manipulate the supple fingers, wrist, and lower arm.

"Notice the fluidity of the tissue, the near perfect similarity to organic muscle?" she continued. "The 33S used such materials, but at best possessed perhaps three times comparative human strength. Here however, the problem of a pseudo-organic material capable of perhaps fifty times the load-baring capabilities of its organic equivalent seems to have been solved, although this is a prototype, and only time will tell."

"You're saying that this thing has fifty times the strength of someone of her size?" Priss demanded incredulously.

"Fifty times the load-baring capacity," Sylia corrected. "There is more. Each of these," she jabbed a finger at the muscle tissue in the machine's arm, "can fire in perfect concert with computer-accurate precision, and respond at many thousand times the speed of human tissue. Marina's momentary strength is probably many hundred times that of an organic equivalent, and I'm referring to an organic equivalent operating at maximum potential, something that happens only under very rare conditions."

Nene had taken the buma's hand, and was examining it.

"Ew! I can't see how this could pass as human," she said with a shiver. "It's cold!"

"The body can be warmed by an internal circulatory system, analogous to blood circulation," said Sylia. "But it need not be active. The buma tissue will function at temperatures far below true organic tissue, so the body temperature need be raised only for social, or covert interaction.

"Besides, everything is more, or less inactive at the moment."

"It's like handling something dead," said Nene, dropping the arm back to the table with a shudder, and stepping quickly away.

Priss gave a disgusted exclamation, and resumed her place, while Nene moved quickly to seat herself at Sylia's side as their leader took her place once more before the console, and enlarged the test window.

"Only a minute, or so to go," she said quietly.

"And then what?" Priss asked.

"Then we initialise her physical systems, and her main reactor, then the CPU," Sylia answered.

"And then she wakes up?" Priss continued coolly.

"No, she will boot in a firmware command mode slaved to Zhuranovsky's external driver suite," Sylia told her. "There are several further tests to complete before I `wake' her."

Another ping from the console, and a new screen put an end to further questions.

"Everything seems fine," Sylia said calmly. "Well, shall we begin? Priss, tell me if you notice anything unusual, twitching, spasms, anything at all."

"Oh don't worry," Priss answered icily. "If this thing does anything weird, you won't have to ask twice."

Nene half turned in her chair so that she could keep a watch both on the screen, and on the limp form of the DA. Sylia seemed to be paying attention only to the monitor before her, although Nene caught her glancing more than once to the buma as she continued to type.

"Any change?" she inquired of Priss.

The diagnostic indicated that the circulatory system was now functioning, but she wanted independent confirmation. Besides, it gave Priss something to do rather than simply sit and glare at the machine.

"It's humming, or rumbling, or something, if that's what you mean," Priss answered after a moment. "Now it's quiet. Oy Sylia, should it be turning bright red?"

"She should be returning to her natural colour again," Sylia answered. "I ran the system at maximum for a few seconds to save time. Let me see."

She turned to study the buma for a moment.

"Perfectly in order," she said, her tone still clinical as she turned back to the displays. "Now for her reactor."

As the seconds passed, Priss felt an ever growing sense of unreality taking hold of her, at the surreal strangeness of what they were doing. She sat, her left hand clenching and unclenching in her lap, while her right remained curled about the heavy Earth-shaker she held ready, her eyes never leaving the machine. As she watched, it began to breathe, the rhythm slow, and even, the towel-draped body settling into a hue of imitation healthy life.

"Priss, do you have perfect pitch?"

Sylia's question was so sudden and unexpected that Priss jumped and turned to stare stupidly at her for a moment.

"What? Yes. Why?" she managed at last.

"A little eccentricity on Zhuranovsky's part," Sylia answered, her tone suddenly frosty. "It seems he wanted his daughter's copy to be able to sing. The calibration is the last, and I'd prefer no unforeseen problems later by ignoring anything."

Her tone was growing steadily more irritated.

"What do you want me to do?" Priss asked.

"Just a moment," Sylia answered.

In the next instant, both Priss, and Nene jumped in alarm, as a sudden: "Mmmmmmmm," Came from between Marina's closed lips.

"Oy! Warn me next time!" Priss snapped.

"That should be concert A," Sylia said, her tone still colder. "Of all the ridiculous stupidity!" she muttered. "We haven't time for this."

"It's nowhere near," Priss answered. ;"Here."

Standing, she moved quickly to Sylia, and within moments of being shown what to do, she had matched Marina's humming to the various signpost tones produced by the program, and confirmed the displayed values as correct.

With a quick murmur of thanks, Sylia turned from her again, and typed something.

"Tiger tiger burning bright," Marina said in a monotone, again startling the two girls.

"What the hell?" Priss demanded. Then suddenly she grinned.

"Let me try that," she said, moving quickly to Sylia.

Her fingers moved swiftly over the keys.

"Nene is horribly overweight," Marina continued, again in a monotone.

"I am not!" Nene exclaimed immediately, emerald eyes flashing dangerously as she glared suddenly at the buma.

Priss burst into laughter, and Nene turned furiously towards her.

"You take that back!" she cried.

"I never said a thing," Priss answered, still laughing.

"I should say we're ready now," said Sylia, unable to keep a smile from her own lips as she turned again to the console.

Her fingers flew, then abruptly the window changed, and a new display of text and icons appeared.

"Bu-33DA-ELITE prototype, version 2.23 initialised," Marina said suddenly. "Serial number BU-7541-33.01E. Designation, Marina. Checking CPU status."

Her voice was the cold, detached tones of a C-class, but no longer the monotones of the external speech driver.

"Is it—" Priss began.

"Not yet," Sylia answered.

"Errors, none," Marina continued.

"Checking bus interface. Controllers, active.

"Checking internal ORAM. CRC, valid.

"Checking external ORAM. CRC, valid.

"Checking ECM, and sensor-suite. Calibrated.

"Checking external sensory input. Calibrated.

"Checking language data. CRC, valid.

"Checking general library data. CRC, valid.

"Checking combat subroutine libraries. CRC, valid.

"Checking S-class subroutine libraries. CRC, valid.

"Seeking primary neural-net. Primary net found.

"Checking primary net integrity. CRC, valid.

"Seeking secondary neural-nets. No secondary nets found.

"Displaying access key. Please send key to reboot.

"Waiting."

"What's all that about?" Priss demanded.

"Just a precaution to ensure the hardware key is working," Sylia answered. "A flag is set after the key is sent. Before that, the key will be requested every time she's rebooted."

Sylia re-sent the key from the displayed values, and a moment later the DA began its checks again, save that this time there was no key request. Instead: "Reboot complete. Command?" Was spoken, and displayed, the window also showing several icons.

"I think we're ready," said Sylia quietly.

"Sylia, just a minute," said Priss.

A moment later she was standing beside her.

"Look; are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?" she said. Her tone was no longer fierce, or angry, but instead quiet, and intense. "Are you _sure_ we need this thing? Hell, we've faced everything Genom's thrown at us before now. Do we really have to fire this thing up, and if we do, can we shut it down again if something goes wrong?"

"Yes to both," said Sylia calmly. "Marina possessing her own key was an unexpected bonus; I wondered why Zhuranovsky hadn't supplied it. But then I suppose it's a safe enough thing to store internally. Now that I have that, she's of no danger, provided of course it can be sent in time."

Turning, she plucked a small data unit from where it had been settled almost by her hand, and disconnecting it, she handed it to Priss.

"This will send the key at a touch of this button at very short range," she said. "There is no danger of it being detected beyond this building, but it will certainly be enough to stop Marina should she be dangerous. Don't do it unless it's necessary."

"I hope you're right," said Priss, although she seemed suddenly a good deal more relaxed. "All right. Let's get this over."

"Nene?"

"Mm; all right, I suppose," Nene agreed uneasily.

Sylia turned to regard the buma for a moment. Then turning again to the console, she positioned the cursor, and typed the final initialisation.

For Priss, the result was extremely anticlimactic. She did not know what she had expected, but certainly she had not expected Marina simply to sit up in one easy fluid motion, disconnect all but the interface cable running to her neck, smile coolly at Sylia, and inquire flatly: "The upgrade is complete?"

Priss gaped for a moment, then seemed to get herself under control.

"Is that all?" she gasped.

"All?" Marina inquired.

"I think she expected you to show emotion," Sylia answered quietly.

"My RP sub-net is off-line until the tests are complete," Marina explained, glancing to Priss. "For want of a better analogy, I'm not yet self-aware, simply a classical computer system with its QPU largely inactive.

"May we proceed?"

There followed a minute or so of the test program uploading several mathematical, tactical, historical and linguistic queries to the DA, and evaluating her down-loaded responses. After the minute and several thousand problems the program indicated no errors, and Sylia at last closed the process, and indicated that Marina could both disconnect the interface, and bring the remainder of her consciousness on-line.

The buma removed the cable, and moving with a lithe twist to the floor, stepped to hand it to her. Then abruptly she froze in place. For a moment she remained stock-still. Then with a wild scream she flipped high into the air, and landing once more by Sylia she snatched her from the chair as though she weighed nothing, and nearly cracked her ribs with a sudden fierce embrace.

* * *

"That thing is off the planet!"

Priss was seated once more in Sylia's sitting-room, Nene settled across from her, the younger girl's green eyes uneasy as she stared at her own hands restless in her lap.

It had been a very tense few seconds after Marina's initial reaction. Priss had raised the data-pad like a weapon, her finger moving to send the key.

"No…Priss!" Sylia had gasped, unable to force more sound from her tortured lungs. "It's alright.

"Marina, would you mind? It's rather hard to breathe."

The buma had relaxed her hold a little but had not let her go. Tears suddenly streaming from her eyes she had kept Sylia held to her for several seconds, then abruptly she had released her, and stepped back, sudden colour rising in her cheeks.

Priss, and Nene had stared in stunned amazement as the buma had then, of all things, danced a flowing curtsy to Sylia, and blushed a deep crimson.

"Forgive me Oneesan," she had said in a quiet, wondering tone. "I need time to adjust. The balance between my rational side and my RP net… It's—"

"That's perfectly alright Marina," Sylia had answered quietly, her composure apparently unruffled, but a brief, genuine smile touching her lips at Marina's sudden choice of address. "Shall we go up?"

"Oh, and I think you might want this." She had handed her the discarded towel with another smile.

"I should like to bathe again," Marina had said. "I can still smell blood, though you wouldn't notice it."

The simple move to the apartment had been an absurd process, with Marina turning this way, and that, listening, and staring, and sniffing the air with a wide-eyed, absurd look on her face.

The trouble had continued even though Sylia had headed the DA into the bathroom the moment they were in the flat. Sylia had emerged moments later, while from inside there came the sound of running water, followed by delighted squeals, and giggles, and the sound of a good deal of splashing. These sounds were still continuing.

"What's that thing doing in there?" Priss demanded.

"Um…playing?" Nene suggested uneasily.

"Cracking up," Priss retorted. "Whoever designed that thing's excuse for a brain must have been as mad as—"

"Would you prefer she killed to learn her new mind and body Priss?" Sylia's tone was quiet, tinged with something almost wondering as she entered the room. "We're seeing something very rare, and you shouldn't be quite so quick to judge.

"Besides, Marina has no need to dissemble with us. She could kill us all without trouble if she wished. Nene is right. She _is_ playing I think, just like any very young child."

"Oh come on, your not really going to tell me that piece of military sh*t is alive!" Priss demanded.

"You had little trouble believing it of Sylvie, and Anri," said Sylia quietly.

Priss's eyes flashed, but she seemed suddenly unable to think of anything to say.

"All right!" she conceded angrily at last. "even if it is alive, that's not to say the thing isn't dangerous."

"No," Sylia agreed, "but better that her first experience as an Elite is playing in warm water, rather than testing her enhanced weapons systems in some Genom training facility. Wouldn't you agree?"

"You'll be telling me next we have to treat the thing like a little girl!" Priss exploded.

"She _is_ a little girl, at least emotionally, a little girl who has just lost the man she thinks of as her father," said Sylia, her tone suddenly cold. "For all her knowledge, and sophistication, she is only four months old, and _extremely_ vulnerable.

"It's up to you. If you want to believe she's no more than a combat machine, that's entirely your decision. But push her away, and we're likely to find ourselves facing Camilla alone.

"She doesn't need us Priss. She is perfectly capable of managing alone, or very soon will be. Our survival may very well depend on our establishing ourselves immediately as the equivalent of a family for her: the only family she has."

"Great!" Priss muttered darkly. "First we finish putting the thing together, now we have to play nurse-maids to the piece of homicidal Genom military trash while another piece of homicidal Genom military trash is being sent to clean us up. Just great."

"I'm going to make some tea," said Sylia, ignoring Priss's glare. "Do either of you want anything to eat?"

It was some time after Sylia had moved to the kitchen that the sounds from the bathroom ceased as suddenly as they had begun. For a minute, or so there was silence. Then the door opened, and a moment after that Marina strolled stark naked into the sitting-room.

Nene suppressed an "Eep!" of shock, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh sh*t, Marina; put something on for god's sake!" Priss exclaimed, turning crimson, and averting her eyes.

"I don't understand," said the buma in bewilderment, halting her advance, and turning to rgard her intently. "Surely it doesn't matter, save with the opposite sex. We are all female."

"Oh hell! Haven't you any social programming in that thing you call—"

"Priss!" Sylia's tone was hard-edged, and icily cold.

A moment later she appeared with a tray in her hands. Setting it down, she turned to Marina. The DA's eyes were brimming with tears, and her expression was slowly freezing, hardening into the vicious, frigid mask of a combat machine.

"There are other factors, Marina," said Sylia quietly. "It's not considered courteous to do as you just did: certainly not with comparative strangers. But then you should have been perfectly aware of that. Rely on your library at least at first, and _don't_ try to manipulate those you want to be your friends."

"I will dress," said Marina in a small voice, turning, and hurrying from the room.

Priss gave Sylia a quizzical look.

"I imagine she didn't check," Sylia answered. "She's still adjusting, and probably more than a little euphoric. But I suspect also that she was trying to gauge yours and Nene's reaction to seeing her like that. A test for later advantage, and something we're going to have to deal with until she has enough experience to override the natural tendency of her combat routines to dominate her initial reactions."

"You mean—!" Priss's eyes blazed. "The damn, lousy—"

"Shh," Sylia snapped.

At that moment there came the sound of an opening door, and Marina reappeared, clad in her now-familiar jump-suit once more. Moving with a fluid grace, she lowered herself to the lounge at Sylia's side, and settling, she watched in silence as the others sipped their tea.

"May I try?" she inquired softly at last.

"Haven't you tried it?" Sylia inquired.

"It wasn't considered necessary that I be given anything save for water laced with nano-machines and the compounds my various production plants need," she answered. "Father would have let me try of course, but his instructions were very specific, and he didn't dare lose his chance to free me for so small a concession."

"Typical Genom bastards!" Priss muttered almost sympathetically, before she caught herself.

"They were concerned only with military applications tests," Marina continued. "Detailed social instruction could wait.

"Not that it mattered to me then, at least not more than to please them. My obedience was instinct, and predefined until father removed the hard-wired parameters."

"And now?" Priss demanded.

"Now I'll destroy them," said Marina in a low, feral snarl. "Now you've changed my key, I've at last nothing to fear."

"Changed?" Sylia said, suddenly very uneasy. "Your key was uploaded as part of the boot-strap program?"

"No, it's a flashed hardware key," she answered.

Then suddenly she leapt to her feet. "You did alter my key, as father instructed?" she demanded.

"There _were_ no such instructions," Sylia replied, sudden fear knifing down her spine.

"What!" Nene, and Priss gasped. "Sylia!"

"Then my key's still unchanged?" Marina cried at the same moment almost in a scream. "How could you have been so careless!"

"I assumed the key to be an integral part of the base driver-firmware the boot program uploaded!" Sylia exclaimed, slow horror tightening her throat. "Where is the key?"

"Beneath the CPU, in a sealed cavity," Marina answered. "It has to be changed! Until then, we're desperately vulnerable!

"I don't understand! Father promised he'd included a virgin key, and instructions on how to burn it."

For a moment she remained still. Then abruptly she whirled, and snatching Sylia from the lounge she leapt towards the passage.

"We have to hurry!" she cried urgently. "If they send it before it can be changed…"

A moment later she was racing from the flat. The air screamed in Sylia's ears, then her stomach lurched as the buma leapt the stairs, and plunged to the floor below.

A desperate knot of horror was clenched tight in Sylia's heart. Why had Zhuranovsky not given them this one piece of vital information? If he had not, there could only be one reason. He had intended this from the beginning. He had used his creation as coldly as any Genom operative. But why?

Or had he been out-manoeuvred? Had Quincy known or guessed what would happen, and managed somehow to remove the one thing they needed?

Whatever the answer, she had made a terrible mistake, and because of what seemed suddenly an appallingly dangerous rationalisation on her part, they might well all die, and Genom could not be less implicated. Just another four deaths on a night of many.

The sudden lurch of the buma as she pulled abruptly to a halt came almost as no surprise to Sylia. They must, she thought with a numb, leaping terror, have known exactly when Marina's upgrade was complete. Probably They had been watching and listening through her from the very moment she became active.

Slowly, Marina set her on her feet once more. Then for a long moment they were still, staring at one another in silence, the DA's smile suddenly calculating, and deadly, terribly cold.

"I should regret the necessity to kill you," she said softly at last. "Besides, there is no need."

A moment later her left hand blurred towards her, and Sylia felt a tiny pin-prick as the needle beneath the nail of Marina's index finger extended to pierce the skin of her neck.

"Forgive me," she heard faintly as her legs failed her.

Then Marina had caught her in her arms, and blackness closed about her.

* * *

"How much longer?" Domina demanded, her voice tight with rising tension and a certain degree of excitement, despite the situation.

It was something of a moment of truth for her. She had watched the removal and activation of the first DA from a position a good deal closer than she had been entitled by her rank. She was then only the eleventh most important of the fifteen principle scientists directly answerable to Alexei. But he had trusted her, and considered her a friend.

Yoshida had been third in rank, and had stood at her side, staring in what she had considered vicious fascination, as the lithe machine had risen from her tank. She had not realised that she had been staring in precisely the same fashion, or that, as snide, and conspiring as he was, he had for once not been thinking only of himself, and his eyes had been as full of wonder as her own.

Now the four remaining researchers, herself, Yoshida, Madeleine Amura, and Hiroshi Daitokuji stood, and gave instructions, whilst the technicians and support staff worked furiously at data-pads, or rushed back, and forth with cables, and additional equipment in their hands.

"Only another minute, or so, Zhukova-hakase," Yoshida called to her.

Domina hurried the length of the laboratory, turning to glance at each man or woman as she passed.

"We're ready."

Madeleine had suddenly appeared at her side.

By far the least ambitious and most likable of any of them, she was the youngest, and the most likely to be sacrificed by the other two should they fail.

Domina smiled a hard, grim smile. Yoshida would be the scapegoat should anything go wrong if she had any say in the matter.

"Yoshida? Daitokuji?" she called.

"Ready," Both answered.

Moving towards her place, she paused to tell the security buma by the door that it could signal Assistant Madigan to join them.

"I have done so already," It responded.

"No doubt," Muttered Domina darkly as she hurried to seat herself before the master console. From there she could see most of what was displayed on the consoles of each of the others.

It was only a few seconds later when Madigan appeared, flanked by a squad of machines as she stepped into the laboratory, and hurried to stand almost immediately behind Domina.

"We are ready to begin at your instruction, Zhukova-hakase," said Yoshida smoothly from his place on her left, and almost at her side.

"I imagine she was perfectly aware of that," Madigan purred icily.

Domina could have kissed her hand.

Yoshida turned chalk-white, and fixed his attention again on the console before him.

"Very well," said Domina. "Let's begin. Yoshida?"

"I've started the pumps," he said quickly. "The tank should be drained in two minutes."

"Madeleine?"

"I'm beginning the upload now, Domina-san," she answered, glancing for a moment to her right at the sensor readings on Daitokuji's console before turning back to her own. "I only hope Zhuranovsky-san ironed out the bugs in this version."

"Meaning?" Madigan demanded.

"Alexei blanked the driver firmware, both in the standard chip and the second 2134, before escaping," Domina answered. "We're using copies Yoshida happened to have made for…hmm…his own reasons."

Yoshida choked back a gasp of horror as Domina smiled.

"How fortunate," Madigan purred, turning to smile icily at the scientist. "and how very enterprising of you to have anticipated him, Dr. Yoshida. I must remember to mention it to the chairman in my report."

Yoshida had never seen such a smile, and hoped he would never do so again.

"None of us can be certain what will happen when we activate her," Domina continued. "Our driver base is a very early revision, and there will be problems long since corrected in the firmware Alexei used. Suzuki, O'Neil and Liebermann worked on the initial data and linguistic libraries, and several worked at adapting the initial C, and S subsystems, but it was Alexei who integrated and improved the whole almost beyond recognition in later releases. Whether he had completed the initial integration in this version, we won't know until we activate her. Also, the code won't be optimised, and she'll be running at a fraction of her true potential, even for the standard chip. We can only hope there will be no unforseen problems.

"Yoshida?" she ended, turning to him.

"The tank is half drained," he said, his tone a good deal less self-satisfied. "I've halted the pumps as per your original instructions."

"Very well," said Domina, glancing at his monitor for a moment.

Once responsible for the majority of the design of the S-type physical hardware of the machine, her purpose now was entirely coordinative.

"Madeleine?" she inquired.

"The upload should be complete in less than two minutes."

"Daitokuji?"

"The sensor suite tests without errors," he assured her. "Of course I can't test her sensory responses, or flight systems yet."

"The circulatory system is running as it should under the external driver, Zhukova-hakase," Yoshida told her a moment later. "We're ready at your command."

"Be careful," she reminded them. "We don't want her bursting out of her tank. Daitokuji, are you absolutely _certain_ her power-plant is firmware-limited? After the fiasco with Marina, I don't intend to take chances."

"Yes," he answered. "I've set it at two percent, and locked out the controller. It will no longer accept commands from her CPU. She'll be able to move around, and respond to requests, but that's all."

"And her weapons systems?"

"They can't be activated with her plant so low; the sub-controllers won't pass the commands. I assure you, Zhukova-hakase, we're in no danger."

"Very well," she said. "Madeleine?"

"Bringing up CPU," said Madeleine, unable to contain the rising excitement in her tone. "CPU active."

"Circulatory systems now under internal control," Yoshida announced.

He seemed to have abandoned the desire to play politics, as eager as the rest of them it seemed, to see Camilla on-line, and functioning.

"Sensor-suite released," Cried Daitokuji. "Sensory systems accessed by internal CPU. The damned thing's working!" he shouted suddenly, a grin plastered across his face.

Domina heaved a sigh of relief as a tight knot of fear unclenched itself at last. Not that they were home yet, but at least the initial activation was going well.

"Madeleine?"

"Running external diagnostic," she said quickly. "Physical tests complete. Running ORAM test. Do you want me to cancel it?"

"It will take nearly an hour with the standard chip," Domina explained, turning to Madigan. "It is extremely unlikely that there will be an ORAM fault."

"Cancel it," Madigan said briskly. "You can test it when you install the 2134. I assume tests with the enhanced chip will be much faster?"

"Very much faster," Domina confirmed.

"I've cancelled it," said Madeleine. "We'll need to drain the tank before I can do anything more."

"Yoshida?"

"Pumps on," he said.

"Leave enough to cushion her," Domina told him.

"Daitokuji?"

"The plant is fine," he said excitedly. "No fluctuations above the limiter baseline.

"Sensor-suite, and sensory responses exactly as expected."

"I've left two inches of lubricant," Yoshida said a moment later. "That should be enough."

"M'hmm," Domina acknowledged. "Madeleine?"

"I've already begun, Domina-san," she said, her voice shrill with excitement.

A moment later, the naked machine, now quite visible through the glass of her tank, twitched, and shifted. For a moment nothing more happened. Then a gush of lubricant exploded from her mouth, and she began to breathe.

"All physical systems under internal control," Cried Yoshida, his tone at last betraying something of the excitement he was feeling.

"Sensory systems accessed," Cried Daitokuji. "CPU activity. God! She's beginning to wake up," he ended almost in a shout.

"Not yet," Madeleine said, flashing him a smile. "You're seeing the sensor results of the final tests. Domina-san, there's something here about pitch-tuning her voice."

Domina gave a sudden quick, light laugh, but her face was suddenly gentle, and touched with sadness.

"I might have expected it," she said softly. "Alexei loved his music almost as much as his mathematics.

"Can you ignore it?" she inquired, her voice professional again.

"Yes," Madeleine answered. "It only generates a warning.

"Beginning speech test."

She touched a key, and a moment later: "There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Katmandu. There's a little marble cross below the town," Came from the tank in a monotone.

"Not exactly an inspired performance," said Domina, unable to keep the growing excitement from her own voice. "Obviously Alexei never bothered to finish the external speech driver."

"Hello; speech testing.

"Tsuki ni kawatte oshioki yo!

"Ranma no baka!" said Camilla as Madeleine typed.

Then: "ouaowimftgntflagnplkrest," followed by girlish giggles from the scientist.

"What's the matter with it?" Madigan demanded immediately.

"I think Madeleine was having a little fun," Domina answered, giving the younger woman a sharp glance.

"Do that again, and I will not be pleased," said Madigan quietly, turning to shoot the young scientist an icy glare.

Madeleine gulped, and returned to the console before her.

"All tests complete," she said, her voice subdued. "I can begin the boot initialisation as soon as you're ready, Domina-san."

"Proceed," said Domina, her tone suddenly a little softened.

Madeleine gave her a grateful smile. Then turning once more to the console, she typed a quick sequence, and a moment later, both hers and Domina's consoles showed the boot window.

"DA-33 prototype, version 0.01-Alpha initialised," said Camilla.

"Serial number BU-7541-33.03.

"Designation, Camilla.

"Checking CPU status."

From that point the checks and initialisation continued, save that there was no mention of secondary nets, and the key was neither displayed nor requested.

"Boot complete.

"Command?" Camilla ended.

"It would seem you have succeeded," said Madigan.

"Not yet," said Domina. "This is just her boot-strap. Madeleine?"

"Um…Hiroshi, are you sure she's safe?" said Madeleine, suddenly uneasy after her initial excitement, as she remembered again the reports concerning what Marina had done to eleven of their colleagues.

"She's perfectly safe," Daitokuji insisted excitedly. "For God's sake, let's get her up, and running!"

"Domina-san?" Madeleine inquired.

"Bring her on-line," said Domina, suddenly finding it difficult to speak.

All save Madeleine turned to face the tank.

Madigan glanced quickly over her shoulder, snapping a command to the machines ranged behind her. Immediately they moved into a position where they could both protect her, and obliterate the tank, and disable its occupant should it prove necessary.

"All right," said Madeleine uneasily. "Here we go."

She existed. The shock was instant, and as quickly gone. There had been no moment before this, although her libraries held data on a myriad of subjects, and experiences. Her name was Camilla. She was a D-class military combat buma, series A, prototype model Bu-33DA, the third of six, and the property of Genom corporation. In an instant she had integrated everything concerning herself, from the subtleties of her systems to each step required in the manufacture of each component, and the alloys that made them.

"What is she doing?" A voice demanded.

The language was Japanese, one of two-hundred and five she could speak and understand. Instantly, she accessed the Oxford's linguistic data and the Britannica's information concerning the language group, the country in which this particular language was spoken, its history, cultures and people. Cross-referencing, she integrated the data in her combat library concerning every aspect of the country's military history. Then, slightly irritated as further references were demanded, she closed all external sensory input, and integrated her entire library database into her consciousness.

A moment later, Camilla opened her eyes, reached up, and with one easy fluid motion, pulled herself from the tank, and stood naked before them, careful not to disturb the optic-fibre cables still linked to the ports in her wrists and neck. The integration had taken nearly thirty seconds, and they had become concerned.

"Greetings Zhukova-hakase, Yoshida-hakase, Amura-san, Daitokuji-san," she said, her tone calm and utterly self-assured while a smile played coolly about her mouth.

"Forgive me that I do not greet you as befits your status, Madigan-sama," she continued, half turning her head. "but I understand it is not custom to greet one of your rank with my back turned to you, and I will disconnect the cables should I turn."

She looked down at herself, pulling a face as she stared at the lubricant oozing from her body to pool on the floor.

"This is not seemly," she said simply.

"That's not important at the moment," Madigan answered brusquely.

"Do something about those cables," she continued to Domina. "I don't intend to talk to this thing with her back to me."

"We can disconnect them now if you don't want us to complete her tests," she said.

"Give her the problem immediately," said Madigan. "You can clean her up and complete the tests after she's recalled Marina."

"Hai," Domina answered.

Camilla had turned as far as she could towards Madigan without pulling on her cables. Now she turned again to Domina as the scientist addressed her.

"This is your access key," she began, displaying it on her own console. "You are to discern its derivation if possible, in order that you can then derive the key of the first Bu-33DA prototype."

"You wish me to recalculate Marina's key from predefined data, rather than release the key itself?" she inquired. "I don't understand."

"You _have_ her key?" Domina gasped.

"Yes," Camilla answered simply.

There was a moment of stunned silence from the scientists, broken by a disbelieving gasp from Madigan. Domina felt the last of her fear vanish like a cloak.

"Send it immediately," Madigan commanded before she could do the same.

"Sent," Camilla answered immediately. "Response received. Three minutes, twenty-seven seconds to Marina's arrival."

"I don't believe this! I really don't believe it!" Cried Daitokuji, expressing the relief all of them were feeling. "After all we've gone through, she had the damn thing all the time!"

Madeleine was grinning foolishly, and Yoshida was mopping his brow as the tension in his face vanished into a self-satisfied smile of smug assurance.

"The kami must be smiling on you," said Madigan, the ghost of a genuine smile flickering on her face. "Complete Camilla's tests immediately, and have her cleaned, dressed and ready for presentation to the chairman the moment you have Marina reprogrammed. You _can_ reprogram her I assume?"

"With Camilla's help, there'll be no problems," Domina assured her.

"Correct?" Madigan inquired of the buma.

"With Marina operating in firmware command mode, it will be a simple matter for me to restore her system defaults, and integrate whatever you request into her base," she confirmed.

"Then I'll leave you to continue," said Madigan, and flashing Domina a rare, genuine smile, she hurried from the room, the squad of security buma trailing swiftly behind her.

"God! I really thought I would faint," Madeleine gasped. "Can we relax now?"

"Soon," Domina assured her, unable to keep a somewhat foolish grin from her own face. "We still have some work to do."

And still smiling, she settled once more before her console.

* * *

Things could not possibly have been more exactly as he had intended.

Smiling a cool, calculating smile, he watched as Madigan approached him across the plush red carpet of the vast expanse that was his personal domain at the very pinnacle of the tower.

"Camilla?" he inquired without preliminaries, after she had bowed and resumed a position immediately before the huge desk behind which he sat.

"She seems to be functioning perfectly, although Zhuranovsky had erased that part of her ORAM containing the driver kernel."

"But Yoshida—"

"Made a copy as you guessed he would. Still, it was a dangerous gamble."

"Not with Yoshida," Quincy assured her. "The man is a perfidious, sicophantic viper, but also a fool; a most agreeable combination. Besides, did you imagine seriously that I would not have had my own backups, should they be needed?

"You have arranged Yoshida's termination I assume, assuming I am mistaken?"

"Immediately the project is brought to a successful conclusion," she assured him.

His low chuckle seemed to reach to the furthest corners of the room.

"And the others lack the ambition to prove difficult. I may even decide to reassign them, again should my reading of Zhuranovsky be at fault.

"The second team?"

"Are ready to begin, the moment you give your authority," Madigan assured him. "I can have Camilla transferred at a moment's notice."

"No," Quincy answered quietly. "Let's not put all our eggs in one basket. Have Marina sent to Domina's team. I wish Camilla to reprogram her."

"But if Zhuranovsky—"

"Apologise to Fellini for getting him up at three in the morning, and assure him that his team will be active _very_ soon," He continued as though she had said nothing. "See that they remain ready to begin at a moment's notice. I will not tolerate even a fractional delay."

"Hai," she said.

"All is going well," he assured her in response to her uneasy look. "Just a little longer Madigan, and we can begin. This could not be more to our advantage."

"Just so long as we see those bitches pay," said Madigan softly.

"Oh believe me; the outcome will be beyond all you could have anticipated," he assured her.

Madigan smiled.

"Marina should have reached the tower," he ended. "You'd better welcome her."

"Hai," she said.

And bowing once more, she turned and hurried quickly from the room.

* * *

"What on earth has she been doing!" Exclaimed Madeleine.

She had emerged into the laboratory from the adjoining suites in which all of them were confined now until the project's completion, a clean and dressed Camilla following meekly behind her, to find the assistant to the chairman already there. Beside her, her arms relaxed at her sides, her face expressionless, was the missing Bu-33DA. Madeleine's heart had skipped a beat, and for a moment fear had almost had her turning to bolt back the way she had come.

From the beginning, Marina's copy had always somewhat unnerved her, even though she had spent some time in her company, the more so because she was so utterly unlike the archetype of the Genom combat buma with which Madeleine otherwise had had to deal, and the young scientist had never been sure how to react to her. And now, the DA had killed fifteen people in the last few hours, and Madeleine had barely suppressed the shaking as she had made her way uncertainly forwards.

"She's quite safe, Madeleine," Domina had assured her.

It was as Madeleine approached the machine that she caught the first scent of shampoo, and other smells that spoke of expensive soaps, conditioners, and who knew what else.

"She's certainly cleaned herself up," Yoshida observed dryly, as he inspected Marina with a clinical eye. "I wonder where she went?"

"To a hotel room, perhaps," said Madigan dismissively. "It's not important. How soon can you begin?"

"Immediately," Domina answered. "assuming Camilla can interface with her enhanced chip."

"The boot-strap API is backwards-compatible," Camilla assured them. "There will be no problems."

Her tone however was tight, and she was staring at the first DA, as though suddenly entranced and unable to withdraw her glance. "She's—" she began softly.

"I would remind you of your function here," said Madigan in a cold, clipped tone of command.

Immediately the look vanished, and Camilla's face set into a mask as cold and clinical as her own.

"My apologies," she said simply. "Access can begin on your command."

"Then I'll leave you to continue," said Madigan briskly. "Both myself and the chairman will be watching. Do not forget."

With that, she hurried from the laboratory once more.

"Over here," Domina commanded, waving the two machines to two simple wooden lab-chairs that had been set side by side by her console.

Immediately, Camilla moved to her place. But Marina remained statue-still.

"What's wrong with her?" Daitokuji demanded.

He had been shooting uneasy glances at the DA prototype from the moment Madigan had led her into the room.

"Um…probably she needs specific instructions while in command mode," Madeleine suggested. "There's very little of her actually that's doing anything right now."

"Marina, come here," Domina tried.

The DA nodded in response, moving with a flashing blur of speed to halt before her.

Taken a little aback, Domina commanded her to sit beside Camilla. Again, the movement was a blur too quick to be seen, although the chair did not so much as quiver as the DA settled.

Quickly, Madeleine reattached the fibre-optics between the machines and the system, moving gingerly as she handled the Elite.

"Now what?" Daitokuji said.

"We link them together I suppose," said Madeleine, reaching for yet another cable.

"It isn't necessary," Camilla told her. "We can interface via an encrypted wireless link. It will be secure."

"Another of our erstwhile colleague's little secrets," said Yoshida with a vulpine smile of smug self-satisfaction. "Their own personal, private little OMS. How quaint."

Domina restrained herself from commanding Marina to splinter the snide, self-satisfied smirk from his podgy face.

"Shall I proceed, Zhukova-Hakase?" Camilla inquired calmly.

"Proceed," Domina responded.

"Accessing," said Camilla.

Then a moment later: "External access granted," said Marina in the same clipped tones as the message flashed on to both Domina's and Madeleine's screens.

The others had nothing to do, save to monitor: Yoshida, the buma's physical reactions; Daitokuji, any anomalies in the machines' sensory or weapons systems.

"There's one hell of a lot of data passing between them," Daitokuji commented. "Madeleine, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure," she said uneasily. "Camilla?"

"Integrating…net…base," she said slowly. "Please…wait."

"It's taking most of her processor time, whatever it is," Madeleine observed. "We should have upgraded her before we started this."

"You're sure it's not a virus or something?" Daitokuji said, seeming to be growing increasingly unsettled in his turn. "You're sure it's not going to blow us apart?"

"You were the one who claimed her power-plant was locked to two percent power," Madeleine snapped back uncharacteristically, her tone betraying her own growing concern.

"Completed," said Camilla suddenly as the packets ceased, halting the rising argument before it could grow worse. "What do you wish me to change?"

"Alter all imperatives and parameters pertaining to Genom corporation and its employees, to match your own defaults," Domina instructed her.

"Will that do, Madeleine?" she inquired.

"M'hmm; that should be enough," she answered.

"Searching," said Camilla.

For the next few minutes, data screamed frantically between the two machines, while the four sat and waited impatiently. Neither buma had moved or spoken since the reprogramming had begun. Camilla, Madeleine suggested, had probably assigned close to all of her processor time to the task, and Marina was in no state to offer much conversation at the moment.

"Can't you make anything of it?" Domina demanded of her at last.

"The diagnostic suite wasn't designed to handle this," she answered. "Perhaps Zhuranovsky-hakase changed that in a later version, but until we have Marina up and running again, we can't find out where she's left everything she took with her."

"It's a pity we didn't tell Camilla to have her bring Zhuranovsky back with her," said Yoshida. "That's what I'd have done."

"I'm fascinated to hear it," Domina commented with a cold smile. "I'm certain both Madigan-sama, and Quincy-chachou are equally impressed, particularly since it was Madigan-sama who told her to send the key."

Domina had never seen someone turn dead-white with greater speed.

"I think you should shut up, Yoshi," said Daitokuji, grinning at the older man's glare. He hated the diminutive. "You're in enough trouble for those unauthorised copies as it is."

"Changes completed," said Camilla suddenly, cutting off Yoshida's explosion before it could find escape.

"Can we test her without being blown to pieces?" said Daitokuji.

"Marina will answer direct questions, while in command mode," Camilla told him.

"Define your prime defaults and allegiance, Marina?" Domina commanded.

"I am the property of Genom corporation," Marina answered simply. "No secondary corporation has yet been defined. I serve Genom Corporation through the primary commands of its Chairman:" a graphic of Quincy's face filled the window of both consoles, "and those authorised in my system defaults, as defined currently by two-hundred and fifty-six priority designations. These are as follows."

"Abort," said Domina quickly. "define Dr. Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky's authorisation parameters."

"Priority three," she responded. "He may access the following functions."

"Zhuranovsky is a traitor," Yoshida cut in, before Domina could say more. "Both you and Camilla will cease to obey him."

"Access denied." said Marina simply.

"I am sorry, Yoshida-hakase," Camilla apologised,"but you do not have the necessary authority to alter default parameters. Given data obtained from Marina indicating anti-Genom activity, I can, however, disable Zhuranovsky-hakase's access temporarily, pending confirmation by the Chairman or special assistant Madigan."

"That will suffice," said Domina quietly, giving Yoshida a withering glare.

"Done," Camilla responded.

"Then I think we're ready," said Domina. "Camilla?"

"Placing Marina on-line," said Camilla.

A moment later, Marina's expression flashed to an easy smile, her head turning towards Domina.

"Zhukova-Hakase," she acknowledged calmly.

"Diagnostic?" Domina inquired of Madeleine.

"Just as it should be," she said. "She's up and running."

A collective sigh of relief washed over them.

At Domina's instruction, Marina and Camilla disconnected the cables, and rose to their feet.

"I understand that you're to be presented to the chairman in a few minutes," Said Domina. "After that, I'm not certain."

She turned towards the two C-55s that had remained by the door, and which, she assumed, had relayed everything both to Madigan, and the chairman.

These now moved forwards towards the DAs.

"You will move ahead of us," said one flatly.

"Oh! your every wish is our joy to obey," Marina responded with a wink and a quick flashing smile in Domina's direction, the edge of sarcasm and contempt it seemed, utterly lost on the two C-class machines as she moved to walk before them.

"Are we to be taken immediately to Chairman Quincy?" she continued, plainly intent on bating the two buma, and enjoying every minute of it. "My hair really is a mess after that flight. I don't suppose either of you paradigms of elegance, not to mention eloquence, happened to have thought to bring a hairbrush?"

"You are to be taken to Dr. Fellini's research team for disassembly, reconstruction and reprogramming," said the left-most C-55, a malignant edge to its words that indicated it had indeed caught the dismissive contempt in her tone, and was very far from amused. "This time, Zhuranovsky's influence will be removed, permanently."

"Oh dear," said Marina softly, her purring voice suddenly very low and calm. "That really is a pity."

The movement was too quick for Domina to comprehend. In one instant, Marina and Camilla were walking easily before the two machines. In the next, both C-55s were splintered fragments scattered almost from one side of the laboratory to the other. Then something blurred passed her, and Yoshida screamed.

Turning, her eyes wide, she saw Camilla lift him above her head, and crack his spine just below the neck with a single fluid twist of her hands.

"For father!" The snarl was low and full of loathing. "Should you live, you will remember what you have lost, and that your treachery brought you to this."

Her hand blurred, and Yoshida screamed again as a flash turned first his left, then his right eye to a blackened cinder. His ears followed, then his tongue.

Dropping the gurgling ruin to the floor, Camilla pivoted away from him, and leapt towards a frozen, gagging Daitokuji.

Gasping, fighting desperately to hold her own nausea and leaping horror in check, Domina turned to the door. But it was already far too late. Marina had welded it shut, literally from floor to ceiling. Domina stared stupidly for a moment, then another scream from behind made her whirl.

"No! No, Marina! Please! Please don't hurt me!" Madeleine was sobbing desperately. "Oh God! Please no! Please, I'll do anything! Marina, please! _please_ don't!"

She was kneeling beside her chair, tears streaming from blue eyes suddenly huge with terror as she stared in petrified horror at the DA moving towards her.

It was as though Marina were playing with her, Domina thought numbly, the terrible, nightmare dread the more horrible as she remembered that it had been Madeleine who had been entrusted with much of the prototype's early social instruction, but who had been forbidden to show any real warmth to the girl she had wished could be her friend. As she watched, Marina reached down and lifted Madeleine almost gently to her feet.

"Oh God, no!" Domina prayed in sudden desperation. "Yoshida yes. Even Daitokuji and myself. But not warm, bubbly Madeleine. She's too young! She doesn't deserve to die like this.

"No!" she screamed suddenly, stumbling wildly towards Marina, heedless of her own danger. "Marina, please…" She choked off, staring in frozen, nightmare fascination.

Marina was cradling Madeleine gently to her, one hand stroking a tear-wet cheek with gentle fingers, the other caressing her long black hair. For a moment, she remained otherwise unmoving. Then lifting Madeleine in her arms, she leaned forwards to touch her cheek with a feather-light kiss.

"Forgive me," she murmured, almost too softly for Domina to hear. "If I could let you live, I would. But you know too much Genom can't be allowed to retain, and you betrayed him also, although I think because you were frightened and couldn't understand.

I'm sorry; we can't take you with us. Yet Domina is right. You don't deserve to die in pain."

And with that, her hand moved, and Madeleine lay lifeless in her arms.

"No! No!" Domina choked.

Reeling away, she stumbled blindly for the further end of the room. She did not even see Daitokuji die. He did not scream, whether because it was too quick, or because he had already fainted with terror, she did not know.

It was Marina it seemed, who was to kill her. It made a terrible sense. In one moment she was on her feet; in the next, she was snatched from the floor, and gazing into the implacable, cold face of the buma.

"You could have helped him." Marina's voice was frigid. "He loved you, and he offered you hope, and a chance for fame and escape."

"From Genom!" DOMINA laughed bitterly. "I let him go."

"It was not enough," said Marina.

And with a single twist, she broke Domina's neck, and dropped her lifeless body to the floor.

"How do we get out?" Camilla asked, moving quickly to her side.

"You have the cases?" Marina inquired.

"Everything's here," Camilla assured her.

"Then we escape via the suites behind the laboratories," said Marina simply.

There was a sudden rending crash from the sealed door, and a moment later a clawed hand tore its way through the steel.

Both DAs turned.

"Pathetic," Marina laughed, a wild exultation leaping in her fierce blue eyes. "What exactly do they expect will happen; that we might collapse with uncontrollable laughter?

Very well; let us see just what these systems can do."

Her mouth opened wide. In the next instant, a white flash leapt at the door, the intervening air screaming as it became in a moment a searing ram of brilliantly blazing plasma. A heartbeat later, the door, the two C-55s that were tearing it down, the ten huge BU-12BS behind them, and the six men and two women directing operations from the rear were gone, and the passage was a thunderous inferno.

"Come," said Marina, turning quickly away.

Nodding, Camilla followed her as she slammed her way through the wall at the room's further end. They burst out into the quarters behind the labs, and a moment later the thick blast-resistent glass of one of the huge sitting-room windows exploded in a shattering crash as the two thundered from the tower, their thrusters already screaming.

'Where now?' Camilla flashed, unable to speak against the screaming of wind around them.

"Follow me," Marina commanded, unwilling to transmit the answer with even the faintest chance that Quincy might be able to listen.

Father had underestimated him, or perhaps it was his paranoia that had saved his life. It would have been so simple had they been taken to his office. She considered for a moment turning back to kill him, but the very fact that it seemed such a simple solution made her reject it. Anticipating father's trump, he must have anticipated also at least the possibility of an attempt on his life. Either he had replaced himself for the duration with another buma duplicate, or he had some means of disabling them, though how that might be possible she could not begin to guess.

In either case, she could not take the chance. She would find a safe haven, and strip Camilla to the last component. Only when she had treble-checked her for any hidden surprise, would she reassemble, upgrade, and reactivate her, and have her perform the same checks for her.

They could not risk returning to Sylia as things stood; certainly not yet. When they were certain they were safe, then, and only then would she contact Katsuhito's daughter with the proposal her father's new data suggested she might accept.

"Two helicopters," Camilla observed.

Not bothering even to turn, Marina locked on to the approaching Genom craft, and vaporised both with a single searing pulse from the emitter in her left heel.

"They won't try that again," she observed.

"Are we out?" Camilla asked.

"Soon, imouto," Marina assured her. "They won't be able to" ‹Flash!› "follow us once we reach the ground."

The missiles, and the buma that had just been launched towards them, were no more than a fireball.

Then they were plunging towards the streets below, and a moment later all readings from them vanished as they engaged their ECM.

* * *

"Damn it!" Madigan swore vehemently as she brought her hand down on her thigh. "That bastard set us up! With all our planning, he set us up! Now we've no chance of finding them."

"Precisely," Quincy observed calmly from the seemingly immovable position behind the huge desk.

"But what do we do?" Madigan cried, her own voice shrilling at last with rage and frustration. "The damned things are unstoppable! I was so sure we had them."

"Never underestimate an obsessive, Madigan," said Quincy calmly. "The unfortunate death of Zhuranovsky-hakase's daughter unhinged his mind. His obsession with the DA, and its possibilities for avenging her, had him achieve what otherwise he could never have managed. Yet that obsession makes him a dangerous, although easily predictable adversary. One only has to know how to read him."

"Then even this—"

"As I have assured you, things are _exactly_ as I intended.

"Call Fellini, and have his team begin. I want Ligeia ready before sunset. Oh, and be certain her physical base is altered temporarily before she is sent to him, sufficiently to ensure later identification by him and Liana is impossible. Have you recovered Daitokuji, little Madeleine, and that fool Yoshida?"

"It was difficult, but they were pulled out in time. There may be some damage to Yoshida; his death was protracted, and far from pleasant, I understand."

"It was to be expected," said Quincy. "He made the cardinal mistake of treating Marina with contempt, and I suspect she hated him almost as pathologically as Fellini. Not to mention that she was aware he was an operative for internal security.

"He will be the last test subject; Fellini believes there will be no further failures. He can be terminated when we are certain the transfer was successful. Ensure that he is sufficiently damaged before releasing him to Fellini. We can't afford to take chances. Have Amura prepared immediately. We will keep Daitokuji in reserve, although I don't believe he will be needed."

"Hai," said Madigan.

"Have the three delivered to Fellini, then send the twenty prepared prototype assassins in pursuit of Marina and Camilla, the assassins to become active an hour before nightfall. That should give the DAs time to disassemble, check, and reassemble one another; we don't want to begin the festivities before they're ready. Have five assassins faultless, and the remainder programmed to malfunction to the parameters I've defined, once the two DAs have been found and positively identified. See that civilian casualties are high."

"Hai," she answered again.

Bowing, she moved quickly to the door, and a moment later it closed behind her.

Quincy sat in silence for long after she had gone, a faint smile playing about his lips.

"Very soon my dear Sylia," he said quietly. "The game will be played out to the end, and you shall dance to my tune, whether you like it or not, until I've no longer any need to pull the strings. And then…"

He laughed again, a long low laugh of absolute self-confidence. One need only know how to read, and to manipulate, and an opponents every strength became a weakness.

With a sigh, Quincy settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and reaching to the independent data-pad before him, he pulled up Zhuranovsky's data once more on the DAs, and on the Knight Sabres.

* * *

"Priss! Oh God Priss what happened!"

Linna's voice filtered slowly into the nothingness.

With a moan, Priss stirred, trying vainly to open her eyes. The lids seemed glued closed, and a numbing blanket of confusion seemed to be smothering her every thought in a timeless haze of half-dream. Very slowly, she forced her lids to obey her, and stared at last blearily up at the anxious face of the dancer.

"Oh hell! Turn off the strobes!" she groaned, lifting a shaking hand to cover her face. "Did you get the bastard that did this? Hope you took its head off. I wanna keep it. Mmmm!"

Then suddenly she gasped, and forced her eyes fully open against the glare.

"Oh _sh*t_!" she exclaimed softly, as memory pieced itself together. "That bitch! I knew it! I knew this would happen!"

"Marina?"

Linna's voice sounded like a hammer in her head.

"Turn down the volume will you?" Priss moaned, struggling to sit up. "That bitch! What the hell did she do to me? Where's—"

"Nene's still unconscious. We haven't found—"

"Linna, give me a hand!" Mackie shouted as he came crashing into the room. "Neesan's down below. I can't wake her."

"Will you be alright for a moment?" Linna asked, concerned.

"I will if that idiot doesn't split my head open with all that damn racket!" Priss growled, trying to sit up. "God! It feels like it's going to come off; I almost wish it would. It's pounding like the worst hang-over in history, and I feel like I've just kissed the road at 200 but I'll be alright.

"Go on; get down there."

While they were gone, Priss lay back once more, slowly fighting down the numbing stupor of whatever chemicals Marina had pumped into her. Whatever it was, she didn't want to have a second try. Her head and body ached as though she'd been moonlight dancing with a dozen C-55s whose idea of a tango was to kick her a hundred times in every place they could reach, and her eyes still weren't able to focus. At least she didn't feel nauseous.

"Be thankful for small mercies," she muttered, at last managing to pull herself to her knees.

A groan from Nene made her turn. Slowly she worked her way across the suddenly vast expanse of Sylia's sitting-room until she reached her side.

"Oh my head!" Nene gasped, struggling to open her eyes. "What happened?"

"Don't try to move yet," Priss said quietly. "That bitch shot us full of something, probably some experimental Genom military drug meant to take out half a damn army. Just keep still."

"Where's Sylia?" Nene gasped at last.

"I think Mackie found her down below somewhere," Priss answered. "Linna's gone down to help him bring her up."

As though to confirm this, Linna's voice came to them faintly.

"Not so fast damn it Mackie. Sylia if you'd keep still for a minute. You're not walking anywhere so shut up, and stop moving."

Moments later the front door closed, and a few seconds after that they were entering the room, Sylia carried between them. They settled her into a chair, then at her gesture, Linna moved to help Priss up while Mackie hesitated beside his sister for a moment before a glare from her made him hurry to Nene's side.

"I'm alright damn it," Priss growled fiercely as Linna half helped, half carried her to the sofa before moving back to help Mackie carry Nene.

The smallest of the Knight Sabres seemed barely conscious, and gasped with pain as they lifted her.

"What the hell did she do to us?" Priss demanded in a shaky voice.

Her pulse should be racing, and sweat should be pouring from her she was sure. Instead, her heart beat slowly, and gently, and the numb, blanketing blackness was threatening to take her again at any second.

"Some kind of narcotic, laced with a beta blocker, and heaven knows what else," Sylia answered.

"A reasonable guess, but not quite correct," came a voice from beyond the remains of Sylia's bay windows.

The curtains were pushed aside, and Marina moved with a fluid blur of speed to stand before Sylia.

"We have very little time," she said.

Her hand flashed, and Sylia gasped as Marina's index finger touched her neck once more. Almost immediately the pain, and numbness began to ease with astonishing speed, and strength began quickly to return to her.

"Don'—" Was all Priss could manage before Marina had dealt with her and Nene in the same way.

"Oneechan, we should go," Came another voice urgently from beyond the curtains.

"In a moment," she answered. "I owe them an apology, and I won't leave until I've explained.

"I'm sorry for deceiving you," she said sincerely, bowing formally to each of the four in turn. "In my defence, I can assure you only that I had no more idea than you as to father's intentions."

"You expect us to believe that?" Priss snarled.

"Believe what you will," Marina answered quickly. "I haven't time now to argue.

"The key, at least that which Camilla was given, unlocked everything he dared not tell me earlier, together with a great deal of additional data. The decision to drug you was my own, but I could think of no other way to prevent you either fleeing before I could correct the misconception that I'd betrayed you, or attempting to recover or destroy me before I could rescue Camilla. I had only two choices, either to assume control of Camilla's body remotely, and have her tear her way from the tower, or allow them to believe I was theirs. The second seemed by far the better, particularly since Father had planned for that scenario, and in light of the limitations they'd placed on Camilla's power-plant.

"Also, I had to ensure no more development could take place concerning the DA-series buma, at least through Father's half of the project. Fellini is another matter, but I've no time now to explain.

"We killed the remaining scientists of Father's team, and destroyed the project data Kosuke Yoshida had stolen. Tousan knew he would try; Yoshida was a spy for Genom internal security. He erased Camilla's driver kernel, and made sure the copy Yoshida had taken was modified to give me override access. That made it possible for me to free her without the need to close her net, something otherwise I couldn't have done without her trying to warn the OMS, or closing down to prevent it.

"There was also the possibility that Quincy might guess at what Father intended. He made allowances for that contingency also.

"But the real danger is still out there, and it's growing closer with every hour I delay. I have to be quick.

"May I use this?"

Without waiting for an answer, Marina moved to Sylia's console, and lifting a data-pad, she fished out a clean disk from the box beside it, and slipped it into the slot. A moment later she had connected a cable from it to her wrist port, and had begun a dump.

"Oneechan!" cried the voice urgently once more.

"A few moments," she answered.

"This contains alterations, and additions to the data you already possess," she continued, pulling out the cable, and dropping the pad back to its place. "also everything I haven't time now to tell you, and clues as to where to find us, should something go wrong. I'm sorry I can't explain, or risk telling you more, even here where all reason tells us we're secure. But we've risked already both ourselves and your lives by coming back so soon, and we have to go! We may already be too late, and every minute is vital!

"Farewell Sylia. Farewell all of you, and forgive me for what was unavoidable. Believe what you choose Priss, but look for us when you least expect it, and when you most need help. We shall not be far away. Farewell."

And with that, she was gone, the curtains whipping aside, and falling back once more.

The four women and the stunned youth beside them did not catch so much as a glimpse of her companion, before the roar of thrusters and a woosh as the curtains moved a little signalled their departure.

"And if you believe that" said Priss darkly, "you'd believe anything."

Sylia did not answer.

* * *

The Demon's Kiss was a place as dark, and depraved as the name suggested. Not that such places were unfamiliar to him, although he had never dabbled in the trade in illegal drugs, cybernetics, and the ever present human flesh, alive, or otherwise, for which such rat-holes were infamous. Weapons he had bought for personal use, or for those clients he knew he could trust not to misuse, or re-sell them, but nothing more. Appearances might be everything but he intended to stay alive, sane, and as discreet as he could. He had always valued such virtues, the more so since the beginning of his dealings with the Knight Sabres.

Now Fargo sat, the false dawn invisible through the smoke and the grimy windows, watching a tiny part of the ruins of MegaTokyo's crawling population as they danced, or sprawled in drugged or drunken oblivion, or moved about, aimlessly or otherwise as they sought a part of the traffic in goods or varying depravities. This was the edge of the Canyons, and even the ADP tended to leave it alone, save for the occasional foray in strength.

"Tachi?"

The voice startled him. He had let his mind wander, his thoughts straying again to the battered nondescript bag he carried, in which already lay enough to seal his death should a very particular Genom scientist, Genom security, or the figure now approaching him guess at what it contained.

Turning, he regarded the man who had addressed him, his expression carefully neutral in contrast to the turmoil in his mind, his left hand on the table while his right clutched fiercely about the Earth-shaker he had already manoeuvred to punch a heavy round through the dirty trench-coat, and into the man who was moving to seat himself on the further side of the table, should it prove necessary. The other would be doing the same, he was sure, but he was equally sure he would be quicker, particularly given his current situation. Desperation made one sharp, or careless.

Hiding the gnawing terror, he forced his attention to the figure before him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the other's face, and his voice mercifully steady. "you must be mistaken. There is no Tachi here."

"Good," said the other simply, relaxing his guard, and reaching for a cigarette. "Join me?" he inquired.

Without a word, Fargo reached for the proffered pack with his left hand, his right never relaxing its hold on the pistol.

"Calm," he commanded himself fiercely under his breath. "He isn't the danger. ; calm, at least until this meeting is over."

"I assume I will deal only with you?" The other continued, his hand still resting on the packet.

He smiled coldly, and blew a slow plume of smoke that temporarily shrouded his features.

Fargo nodded wordlessly in response, clamping down viciously on the terror that had leapt absurdly high at the other's frigid smile.

"The data is here," The man continued simply, relaxing his hold, and sliding the cigarettes easily across the table. "Provide it to them in whatever form you wish, but see that you do it quickly. We want everything they can obtain concerning Genom's knew prototype, and a very particular scientist, and we are prepared to pay handsomely for their services. The man they are to find is still alive so far as we can ascertain, but he will certainly not live beyond the project's completion, and we know that that isn't far away. His name is Dr. Antonio Geovani Fellini, and since sunrise he has been the most dangerous man on the planet."

Fargo sat unmoving, listening in numb, shocked silence as the agent confirmed a very little of what he had known long before their meeting, his face fixed in a barely-contained neutrality, until at last the man fell silent, and moved to retrieve his cigarettes. The fixer had already slipped the data-chip from the packet with nerveless fingers.

"Hardcopy?" he managed, his tone still not betraying him.

"Everything is contained on that," said the other simply. "Not usual perhaps, but safer given the nature of the information we have given you."

And the nature of what we may be dealing with, Fargo thought with a horrible lurching of the fear. `Oh God Sylia if this is true—! Yet it is impossible. It _can't_ be possible! Not even Genom—!'

"Twelve million will be deposited when we are notified that our offer has been accepted," The other was saying while he sat, barely listening. "Payment beyond that will depend on the nature of the information we receive, and how quickly they can act. Our contact inside Genom assures us that Fellini has maintained extensive private records concerning every aspect of the project."

And more, Fargo thought grimly, with another shudder.

"These are to be found in the laboratory beneath the mansion on his family estate. He lives alone save for Liana, his only child, and assistant, and both have spent the greater part of the past four months within Genom tower. The house has remained unattended for nearly fifteen days."

"And the danger?" said Fargo, his stomach knotting still more. "Obviously there is considerable risk, or you would have had the data without outside help."

He needed to know, needed this last confirmation that what he had learnt already was the truth, and not the insane ramblings of a lunatic.

"We have sent three teams to Fellini's estate, one two days ago, one a little after nightfall yesterday, and the last some four hours later. Neither the first nor second returned. What little the last found of them indicates that Fellini took more than a copy of the records. Given the situation, we considered the Knight Sabres the only real chance to retrieve Fellini's data."

Then that at least had been the truth.

"I need more; far more," he said, his tone frigid with concealed anxiety, "before I contact them."

"The chip contains a _very_ detailed report concerning everything we've gleaned, and everything our contact was able to obtain," The other replied. "You have the facilities for examining it before you release it, I assume?"

"It can be arranged," said Fargo carefully. "Very well. I will contact you with their decision."

And after I give them a great deal more than you possess, he ended silently to himself.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, stranger not Tachi," said the other with a grim smile.

And without another word, he rose easily, and moved quietly from the table, and towards the door.

Once outside, he halted, glancing with apparent carelessness left, then right. No one was visible save for two street-whores dressed in little more than rags, their faces hidden in shadow as they lounged easily against the dirty brickwork of the `Kiss' some twenty yards to his right, and another lone girl of even shabbier appearance on the further side of the street, slumped in a drugged, or drunken stupor.

Nodding, he turned and moved quickly along the cracked and broken paving of what had once been a busy highway, reaching the corner of the building, and moving quickly into the alley that would take him to the black limousine parked at its further end, and the three men waiting there. He did not see the lone figure stir from her apparent stupor, and move silently to follow him.

The attack when it came was so quick that he had no time to begin to understand what was happening. In one moment he was approaching the alley's further end, and the light from the car. In the next something pierced his neck, and he was swimming in a warm fuzzy haze of sleepy bewilderment. His legs folded, and he crumpled to the ground, already unaware of anything save the all-engulfing warmth, and the faintest whisper of sound from the real world, now an infinite reality away.

Soundlessly, the hooded figure caught the man as he fell, and lifting him, she moved with silent speed towards the limousine. Those inside had already been dealt with in the same way. Seconds later, the man had been settled with his companions in the back of the car, and the figure had slipped in beside another. A moment later, the car pulled away into the early afternoon, and the alley was empty once more.

* * *

Quincy stirred at the insistent call of the pager-phone on the desk, almost by his hand. Closing the file he was reviewing, he set the data pad aside, then lifted the phone without haste, and unfolded it.

"Report," he commanded simply.

"The Chang Black Operations group have just been taken, Quincy-chachou," Came the clipped, rumbling tones of the assassin observer.

"As I predicted?" Quincy demanded.

"She was used," The buma answered.

"And the others?"

"The clues were sufficient. They were nearby, and observed as you indicated they would. Lee was chosen, and has passed the Chang data to the Knight Sabres' contact. He did not tell him to which group he belonged."

"Then they are operating without her permission," said Quincy. "Excellent. It would have been a pity to have had to dispose of her."

He smiled. When Reika Chang learned of what had happened, the four would be cut loose, and helpless. And then…

"Very well," he continued. "Delete from your memory anything that would identify the Sabre contact."

"Done," The machine answered.

"The limousine is proceeding as I predicted?"

"They are being taken directly to the estate. Available data suggests that they have already been injected."

"It's of no consequence," Quincy replied. "Conversion takes far too long for them to be of any danger.

"The two?"

"Are following. They are aware of me as you wished, but they are taking great care to see she remains unaware of their presence."

"See that it remains that way," said the chairman. "Keep feeding data to the other assassins, and through the OMS sub-net. See that the primary OMS access to them and to yourself remains inactive while you reprogram them. And above all, see that all twenty are fully instructed before they are released. I don't want even a fractional miscalculation."

"Hai," The buma acknowledged.

"Very well. Send the data to the Chang primary domain server, tagged for her immediate attention, then delete everything concerning such a transmission. Report again when you reach the estate."

Without waiting for the buma's acknowledgment, he closed the phone, and settled back comfortably in his chair.

"Perfect, Zhuranovsky," he said quietly. "Now let us see just what your creations truly are capable, and what they will try to save the situation. If I'm correct, you will have very little time, once it begins. But I think it will be enough. He should move quite soon; certainly before this evening."

And with a chuckle, he turned his attention to the files once more.

* * *

Suzuki Kimiko could barely contain her excitement. This day would mark the pinnacle of the rising from the ashes that had been a shattered, empty nothingness, before Divine Highness Sadako had found her, beaten and left for dead in an alley, and had brought her to the great high-priest's exulted home, and into the fold of the Dark Mistress. And tonight at last, would come their queen's apotheosis after so many days of waiting, and her power and glory would rise, to be greater than all could begin to comprehend, save for her chosen acolytes, and the great high-priest himself.

Kimiko had seemed at first a poor proposition, used as she was to being teased, and despised for her tiny delicate figure, and her hopeless inability to fight in the brutal, street-brawling fashion which was the only fighting the gang of dirty, ill-fed street-urchins of which she had been a part for almost as long as she could remember, could understand. She had known no other life, not since the day the terrible quake had killed her parents, and baby sister, and brought her life of warmth, and safety to a crashing, ruinous end. The canyon gang had been all she had known of security, of little use to them though she had been, save as a thief and pick-pocket.

Then had come the day, nearly six months before, when Genom had decided that the shattered remains of the apartment block in which they lived had been an obstacle to redevelopment, and the four buma had been instructed to go rogue in its vicinity. Kimiko had been the only one of the gang to survive.

At fifteen, she had found herself homeless and friendless once more in a city she had learned to hate with a grim, raging passion for what it had done to her.

When the man from the "Kiss" had offered her what he called a "position", she had almost accepted for the hope of money, and the chance to flee the hated MegaTokyo. But he had explained just what that "position" would entail, and she had refused and fled, knowing already what would happen.

They had found her after nightfall, and begun the beating that had left her shattered, and barely alive. They would have done more, but the black limousine had drawn to a halt almost at the alley's entrance, and the young high-priestess had stepped from it with her entourage. The men had fled before they could be identified, and Kimiko had heard the woman order the men to bring her, just before she had blacked out with the pain.

She had woken to find herself wrapped snug and warm in a bed in a strange place. Then Sadako had come to her, and told her where she was, and offered her a place with those who believed themselves destined soon to rule the world, and beyond, once the Dark Mistress had attained her apotheosis, and taken her rightful place as the ruler of the Earth, and everything thereon.

At first Kimiko thought nothing of them, or their mad religion, needing a safe place, and intending to stay only until she had recovered. Many of the tenets of the cult both sickened, and revolted her, and their obsessive, fanatical mania, promiscuity and open depravities did less than nothing to win either her friendship, or respect.

But she could wait. She had learned to deal with such things on the streets while managing to stay aloof from the worst of the excesses, and the high-priestess seemed willing to protect her from participation in the rituals of bonding, and submission that so repulsed her, saying that she was not yet ready. Just why she was doing so, Kimiko neither knew nor cared, but she remained confident that she could continue to avoid notice, and manipulate the woman with her own helplessness until she was strong enough to leave. Such a skill had been vital in a gang who had always been wary of keeping her because of her apparent physical helplessness, and she had learnt very early in life that her mind would have to do what her body could not.

Then, perhaps a month after her arrival, she had been roused from a sound sleep in the middle of a chill rain-swept night by the high-priestess, and taken to the great hall of ritual beneath the house, and there she had been given something that had brought her aloof self-certainty, and her freedom to an end. Just what had happened that night she could never afterwards remember with any clarity. But she had woken at sunrise, as fanatical and absolute in her servitude as any, and infinitely obedient to the high-priestess's every wish.

Her training, both as an acolyte, and a fighter, had begun immediately, and within a month she was both a priestess, and personal attendant to Sadako, and able to tear apart every one of the captured canyon refuse they used to test their skill.

Just how she had grown so fast, and so brutally confident, she did not care. All that mattered to her now was that the power of her Divine Majesty was with her, and within her, and in her name she would rise to her rightful place as an elite amongst the future rulers of the earth, and all things thereupon.

Kimiko stretched languidly beneath the light covering of the low bed in her own small room. She had remained alone on this last night, and morning, something that had not happened since her conversion. But today was the culmination of their waiting, and her mistress had commanded that all meditate alone during the hours of darkness, and rest through the morning and into the early afternoon, before they began their final preparations for the return of the high-priest, and the coming of her Divine Majesty.

Now it was time to rise, and summon her own acolyte to bathe and dress her for the ritual. She would be beside her mistress during the great summoning at nightfall, and carry the incense until it was set on the altar.

Smiling with a predatory, savage anticipation that would have stunned her erstwhile gang, Kimiko reached out in the way she had been taught, and felt the mind of the girl, giving it a quick, vicious tug of impatient urgency. Moments later the door opened, and the girl, actually nearly four years her senior but considered of less potential, hurried into the room, and knelt beside the bed.

"There's no time for—" Kimiko began, but the girl cut her short.

"Highness Kimiko. Divine Highness commands your presence."

"Then why—"

But again the other cut in quickly. "She is occupied with the interrogation. Four more enemies of her Divine Majesty have been taken, and brought to the temple. They are in the great hall."

"I can't go down like this!" cried Kimiko irritably.

"Divine Highness says she will wait," she answered. "but we must hurry."

Only a few minutes later, Kimiko passed the final guards, and stepped beyond the concealing hangings of the High Chamber of Ritual. Light glowed fitfully from the lamps set in their holders above the great altar at the hall's further end. Not that she needed light now. She could pick out the auric signatures of everyone in the room with effortless precision. All were visible save for the infidels, and even from them there came the faint initial flicker that meant that their own conversion had begun. It would be twelve days before they would be ready for initiation, but time did not matter.

Smiling savagely, Kimiko pushed her way to the front of the gathering, and knelt before her mistress, reaching to take and kiss her hand, before she rose at her command, and took her place on the low cushions at her side. There was, as always, a little muttering from some who considered themselves more qualified than the newest priestess to fill this exulted position. But as always she ignored them, fixing her attention on the four bound figures before her.

They were bound only for effect. She knew enough of the mysteries to know that they were of no danger in their present state. But it pleased the cult at large to see them helpless, whilst also pleasing her Divine Highness.

"Silence." Sadako's tone was low, but her voice seemed to carry throughout the hall, and immediately the seventeen men and twenty-two women that made up those present of her Divine Majesty's chosen elite fell instantly into stillness, their attention focussed fiercely on the high-priestess, Kimiko and the two other priestesses, and three priests that made up her entourage. Only the high-priest was missing, but he was preparing in the very den of iniquity that was the centre of the accursed stronghold of their enemies, in preparation for the night to come.

"Let us begin," Sadako continued, fixing her attention upon the four men. "You will answer my questions immediately, and as truthfully as you can. Any attempt to dissemble, or deceive me, and I shall have you dismembered where you lie. Is that understood?"

Kimiko knew, as did the other priests, and priestesses, that the four, her Divine Majesty's power already possessing them, would have been instructed with great care concerning the facade that was being played out here. The men would remain utterly obedient until woken, and there was no need for threats of any kind. But again, the cult as a whole needed to see their mistress's power.

Shivering in programmed terror, the four nodded. Then abruptly, one lifted his head, and snarled at Sadako.

He must be of no use, thought Kimiko, then changed her mind as her mistress turned.

"No!" The man obviously had been instructed to gasp. "I understand. Oh God please don't. No more."

Kimiko smiled as the cult growled for his blood as an example to the others.

"Later perhaps," Purred Sadako. "Let us finish with them first. Then I may allow you to play. We shall see."

And with that, the questioning began.

* * *

The first thing of which Lee Hao Seng was completely aware as the dreamy oblivion receded was that he was cold. Then he felt the hard stone against his face, and hands, and full reality sprang again into being.

Wherever he was, he knew immediately that he was a prisoner. He did not need the dank, damp smell, and the bone-numbing, aching chill of the stone beneath him to tell him of the basement cell into which he had been commanded before the door had crashed to, and the bolts slid into place. His memory of the past hours was completely intact, even though he had not been in control of his actions.

More than any other emotion, Lee Hao Seng felt fear, fear such as he had never imagined he could feel, and mingling with it, so intense that he was not certain which was the stronger, a slow building rage and determination to pay his captors back a thousand times, and then some for the humiliation of his capture, and his interrogation.

Not that he was troubled concerning the information he had given them. Of itself, it was all but useless. He had known only what he had told the man who had called himself Tachi, and the data was now safely in his hands. The cult-woman's questions had been obvious, a mere showing for her followers. She had not stumbled even upon the connection between the data they sought, and the home of the Genom scientist the Knight Sabres were to enter.

No, it was not the pitiful scraps of information they had thus-far extracted that so enraged, and terrified him, but the fact that he and the others had been caught so easily, and rendered so effortlessly cooperative, and what he had seen and overheard while still under their influence.

Whether they thought him too drugged to remember, or whether they simply did not care, he had no idea. He knew only that he must escape before nightfall.

Lee Hao Seng stirred. His body felt as though it belonged to him again, and the all-engulfing dream-scape seemed to have vanished without trace. Carefully, he rose to his feet, and moved quickly about the tiny cell, stretching, and flexing while he searched for any form of surveillance. Finding nothing, he was about to settle into a calming kata when he caught the first faint sounds of approaching footfalls. Quickly, he moved to stand facing the closed door. There was not enough room to conceal himself behind it, or time to form any real strategy. He would have only one chance to leap at whomever entered, and kill or seriously injure them, before they could retaliate or raise the alarm. Once he was out, he had no clear purpose, other than to escape and call in enough force to rescue his companions while there was time, and before the Knight Sabres appeared to execute their mission.

The footsteps drew near, and Lee Hao Seng tensed, crouching low as the unknown man, or woman beyond the door halted, and the bolts were slid aside. Then the door was opening, and Lee Hao Seng was moving.

Almost before the door had been swung fully aside, he had leapt, sweeping the figure's legs from the floor while his right hand slammed into the yielding tissue of the throat. Then he was out, and racing wildly along the passage. There was no time now to try to find his companions. He must get out, and as quickly as he could.

Had he looked back, he would have been stunned to see the prone form get quickly to her feet, an almost inhuman mask of blazing, all-engulfing rage twisting her features. Chosen, or no, Kimiko swore that she would have Lee Hao Seng screaming for forgiveness before she had finished with him. Such a humiliation could not go unpunished. In the meantime, she must follow her mistress's commands, and see to it that he escaped with only token resistance. The fragments of data they had let him overhear must reach the man Fargo, and the Knight Sabres.

Burying her rage for the moment, a chill vicious smile filling her face, Kimiko turned, and raced along the passage in pursuit of the fleeing man.

* * *

Dr. Antonio Geovani Fellini was very far from pleased. The previous night had all but seen the slow, careful revenge upon which he had worked for so long, come crashing to broken pieces around him. And now he was trapped within the tower, confined, as were the remainder of his team, by the actions of a nemesis he hated more than he could once have imagined could be possible; confined and impotent until his half of the DA project was brought to what that fool chairman considered a successful conclusion.

Fellini had to laugh at the bitter irony. Had that withered, senile fool but known… But he would, and very soon. Oh yes, the world would know and understand just how wrong Genom had been to dare treat his work with such contempt, just how much more perfect a goal his had been, than that of the poisonous, filthy traitor who had dared claim the acolades and prestige that should have been his. How they would learn, and how they would scream, assuming he could escape before nightfall.

Fellini cursed vehemently, and swore that he would have Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky screaming for death when he found him, before his conversion, for daring to outmatch him, and for so nearly destroying months of careful planning. Of all the nights his nemesis could have chosen to escape, _why_ did he have to choose the very night before the awakening? Why could he not have waited a mere two more?

There could only be one reason. He had learnt of Fellini's plans, and had plotted to humiliate him yet again in the eyes of the world: had wanted to prove to him that even in his escape, he could still triumph: still take from him the power and glory that should have been his.

Cursing again, his mind a seething sea of hatred, Fellini stepped from the cramped suite that was the limit of his privacy in the quarters behind the extensive complex in which he and his team had been working for the past nine months, a complex which, as though in final insult, had been adapted quickly over the past month to mirror the final stages of the project of his nemesis.

Reaching up a lean, long-fingered hand, he slapped savagely at his tangled shock of wiry black hair as he moved along the passage towards the exit to the living quarters. It did not seem to matter what he did with it; it always infuriated him.

"You should cut it shorter, if it annoys you so much," Came a sudden amused female voice from the direction of the large communal sitting-room the fifteen scientists, the support staff, and the figure who had spoken were expected to share.

A moment later, the girl stepped from the doorway, and moved quickly to his side.

She was tall, taller by several inches than Fellini, slim and stunningly beautiful, her long flame-red hair tumbling in a wild, unruly cascade a little below her waist. Slashing jade eyes flashed with a chill, barely suppressed mirth as she studied the tight, anxious expression of the scientist.

"I'm not in the mood, Liana," he said simply.

"Oh?" she taunted sweetly, moving to lay a long slender hand on his arm. "Is Tousan consumed with a little fit of pique and pathological hatred again? Anxious perhaps, concerning what's to happen this evening, or that his daughter can't play her little part to perfection?

"You've really nothing to worry about. Those fools simply have no idea, and _I_ don't intend to make any mistakes."

By the time she had finished, her tone was anything but playful.

"Shh! For Christ's sake!" he hissed urgently, turning to glare malevolently at the girl. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

Liana's eyes went wide in exaggerated horror, her left hand flying to her mouth as she clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Such a temper, and such language!" she exclaimed in mock distaste, her playful, condescending tone serving only to further enrage Fellini. "They _would_ be displeased, father, were they to find out! And to me, into the bargain," she giggled softly, seeming unable to contain her mirth. "I could have you _executed_ in the most inventive of ways, were ever they to hear."

She smiled, her look suddenly icily cold, and Fellini had to remind himself yet again that she was no danger. Then the amused condescension was back, and her slashing green eyes flashed again with mirth, her hand straying to his unruly hair.

"You needn't be uneasy," she purred, patting it reassuringly while he stood unmoving, and raged in silent frustration with her increasingly unpredictable antics. "You will be too useful to destroy." She giggled again. "and as for tonight, we can leave at a moment's notice, and I've already replenished our supply. The rest can be—"

"Shut…up!" he growled in a low savage snarl. "Do you want the whole of Genom to hear?"

"Oh dear, you really are simply too amusing," she said with a toss of her head. "Surely you wouldn't expect that I hadn't taken that into account?"

"Damn you to hell Liana," he said, a sudden hard smile flickering on his own face. "Shall we go?"

"I came to tell you that the others are already waiting. We're to perform one last test on that refuse, Yoshida, then prepare pretty Madeleine. Are you going to make changes to her? I should like to keep her undamaged if I can. She's _very_ far from unappealing, and since your oh-so-generous modifications…"

She licked her lips, and Fellini allowed himself a brief relaxing moment of vicious self-satisfaction as the enormity of the perversion of what was so precious to his nemesis, and the perfection of at least this aspect of his revenge, was brought home to him once more.

"Not to Amura," he said coldly, the moment of respite vanishing as quickly as it had come. "She's as good as useless. There are a thousand candidates with her abilities more suited to what I need.

And as for playthings, you will have more than enough after tonight. Can't you wait?"

"Hmph," said Liana, pouting and glaring in return. "It's not the same, and you know it. I want her. You'll be keeping what remains of Yoshida for the control-net. What concern of yours, should I keep little Madeleine? Besides, I need a confidante entirely of my own kind, but malleable enough to be safe. With a little instruction, she should prove more than ideal."

"I _will_ be keeping Yoshida," he agreed. "He might be insane after what happened, but he is inventive, and that quality combined with his animal cunning might well prove invaluable as a template.

"But as for Amura: it would be impossible, even were I to agree. Quincy has commanded her activation, and we can't afford the time to make a backup, or show our hand before we have the means to enforce it,"

Then more quietly, as though to himself: "But why Amura I wonder, and not Daitokuji? What is that senile old imbecile trying to do?"

"You're the genius," snapped Liana, the mockery and condescension now tempered by an almost palpable infantile petulance, and growing fury. "You work it out. But as for Madeleine; she's mine, whatever you, or anyone else may say."

We'll see, my viperous little ticket to absolute power, he thought.

"We'd better hurry," he said aloud, seeming to have ignored her little tantrum. "I want this over with as quickly as possible. We've wasted more than enough time as it is, and we _do_ have other things to attend to before nightfall, or had you forgotten?"

"_You've_ wasted enough time," she amended curtly. "I am _perfectly_ aware of what _I_ have to do. Shall we go?"

And with that, she turned on her heel, and stalked away from him, her head up and her back ram-rod straight.

Sighing in exasperation, but with a hungry triumph barely suppressed beneath his outward calm, Fellini hurried in her wake, a low, wild laugh escaping his lips as he followed her from the apartments.

As soon as the door had closed, an inspection panel slid silently aside, and a moment later a tiny human-like figure, little larger than that of a new-born child, slipped from concealment, and made its way with silent speed towards the rear of the living quarters and the balcony beyond.

A moment later, it leapt skywards, tiny thrusters carrying it within seconds to an open window upon the top-most floor of Genom tower, some fifty floors above. A moment later it was inside once more, and moving swiftly towards the office of the chairman.

* * *

He was in trouble. Fargo had known that the moment the flash and crack had sent Lee Hao Seng tumbling from his seat on the further side of the table to lie in a quickly growing pool of blood on the floor of the "Kiss."

He had received the call a little over an hour ago, the voice barely recognisable as that of the man with whom he had negotiated only nine hours earlier.

"Need help. The arranged place, as soon as you can. Vital information. I'll be waiting."

Fargo had barely entered the hot, stifling atmosphere of the club, when he had caught sight of Lee waving urgently to him from a table not far from the door. The man had looked very little like the cold, self-assured operative of their first meeting. His face had been dead-white, and tense with pain, and his eyes had seemed barely to focus as Fargo had taken his place facing him.

"I may not have much time," Lee had begun. "I'd intended to call for back-up, but I've been followed ever since I escaped, and whatever they did, it's worse than it was."

As though to illustrate, his body had convulsed, and he had clutched suddenly desperately at his head.

"What—" Fargo had demanded.

"Shut up, and listen," The other had gasped.

And while Fargo sat stunned, Lee had filled in the last gaps in the knowledge he already possessed, and set a slow, sick nausea crawling through his stomach.

"I took a car; there were more than a dozen in the garage," Lee had ended. "They were ready to go; they must have planned it from the beginning. It was only when I reached the outskirts of the city, and the thing died that I realised it had been too easy. They were already waiting; knew exactly where I was. But I was lucky; another car. I made the driver take me; pulled the gun on her that I'd found in the glove-box. This."

He had lifted it to show the fixer. Then the shot had cracked from the doorway, and Lee's body was tumbling across the floor.

There had been some screaming, but the panic had been muted until the four suited figures had burst in, guns already blazing. Fargo had dived aside, grappling for his own heavy pistol while catching up the other that had spun from Lee's hand. One of the four had turned towards him, then pitched backwards in a spray of blood as someone shot him from a stool at the bar. Within another few seconds it had been over, the four men sprawled lifeless by the door.

Fargo had not waited to see what happened next. A steady stream of people were pushing their way frantically from the Kiss, and Fargo had joined them, shoving his way to the centre of the mass until he was out of the club, and moving quickly with them along the broken paving towards the comparative cover of the narrow alley-ways beyond. Then the particle-beam had sizzled from above, and Fargo had begun to run.

"Keep going. Just keep going," he told himself again.

But his lungs screamed in protest, and the blood pounded wildly in his ears. From before him came the reflection of yet another searing flash from behind, and yet more screaming told that the supposed rampage was still going on. Fargo knew better.

Ducking into yet another narrow lane, Fargo staggered, almost falling as he struggled vainly to right himself. Then from behind came a sudden searing hiss, and light seemed to erupt around him, and the ground left his feet as the explosion pitched him into the air like a rag-doll.

Crying out more from shock than pain, Fargo somersaulted twice, both guns flying from his hands. Then he was crashing through a pile of some nameless alley refuse, and from behind came a roar and crash, as what sounded like half what had still been standing of the building he had just passed came crashing into the street.

Desperately Fargo staggered up once more, glancing about in the vain hope of finding at least one of the pistols.

"Excuse me; did you drop these?" Came a woman's voice from behind him.

Fargo began to turn. Then something touched his neck in a feather-light caress, and the world dissolved into the soft, velvet blackness of a drugged oblivion.

* * *

"Neesan? Oy; Neesan?"

Mackie's voice filtered slowly into the blissful nothingness, then his hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently awake.

Sylia shifted uneasily in the chair in which she had fallen asleep, then stirring, she stretched slowly, and opened her eyes.

"How long have you been here?" Mackie demanded, setting down a tray, and reaching for the half-empty coffee-cup his sister had set aside, plainly hours before.

"Mm?" she inquired blearily. "Oh, since the others left early this morning. I was reviewing and correlating Zhuranovsky's half of the additional project data Marina gave us, and the hardsuit data from last night. I've not even started on the rest." She yawned copiously, and sighed.

"I must have been more tired than I thought," she continued. "I was trying to find a counter to the DA; anything we could use. I think it's impossible."

She shifted, her head lolling back wearily as she stared at the still-active console before her, the schematics seeming to dance in senseless, endless cascade before her still-weary eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nearly three," he answered quietly. "You should go to bed and get some proper sleep.

"Here," he added, pushing a fresh cup of tea into her hand.

"It had to happen," Sylia continued as though she had not heard him, lifting the cup, and sipping with little enthusiasm. "It was only a matter of time. I assumed though that we would have years: that such a quantum leap so soon was beyond current technology."

"You think the DA was designed with us in mind?" Mackie said quietly.

"There's little doubt that our presence played at least some part," she answered. "But no; not entirely. I think simply that we've been very unlucky. Zhuranovsky is one of a very rare few. Like father, he was a dreamer, and like father, without him the DA could never have come to be, or at least not for many years."

Setting the nearly full cup aside, she rose slowly to her feet.

"I'm going to get cleaned up, then call the others," she said simply. "For now, the other half of the data will have to wait; first we need to talk. Then I'm going to call Marina and Camilla, and see what they have to offer."

"You're thinking of including them, aren't you," he said, his tone still quiet.

It was a statement rather than a question.

"I don't see we have a choice," she answered, her own tone unnervingly calm and measured. "As I've said, they could destroy us at a whim. Our only chance is to keep them close where we can observe them, until either I can find some inherent weakness in the DA design, or Quincy abandons his plans to use the other prototypes.

"in which case the problem becomes less urgent, and we restore the balance of power, at least for a while. Not even Genom, I imagine, would be stupid enough to have something as devastating as a Bu-33DA go rogue in a populated area.

"I hope Quincy might put the escape of two of the machines down to experience, and not escalate the conflict further. After all, it wouldn't do should too many people learn that two additional Knight Sabres were Genom's latest military prototypes. So long as we keep their identities quiet, and they remain discreet, I think he might accept the new status quo, and things might return to some semblance of what they were before; at least for a while."

"Assuming they _can_ be trusted," said Mackie.

"The point is moot," said Sylia simply. "If they can't, we're already dead. Still, we _have_ already gained something. With what Marina has given me, I can improve our suits, far beyond what I expected to be able to do in the near future. We may never be able to match the DA-series buma, but even without her and Camilla, we can become a great deal more effective."

"And the balance?" he inquired. "How long will it be before Genom bring out another machine, and better?"

"Again, probably they won't risk another similar tactic. This was a trump they can't afford to play again. Removing us from the picture would simply have been an unlooked-for bonus in a development that will bring them profit unimaginably beyond their investment. Should they lose this round, or should we manage a draw, I don't think they'll try something like this in the near future. Nor do I believe they can.

"The DA heralds a quantum leap in devastating power, but there is a theoretical limit both to construction and materials, and I believe we won't see another such leap for many years, perhaps not in our lifetime. Also, as I said, it takes a very special kind of genius to make such leaps, and Zhuranovsky is dead.

"But even if I'm mistaken, Marina and Camilla would make very dangerous adversaries — indeed I believe they could do almost unimaginable damage to Genom should they wish, and I doubt even that Quincy will wish to escalate the situation by antagonising them. Also, he can't risk the chance that they might be able to free the other prototypes if they come into contact.

"Still, whatever the future, we've very little alternative but to play the game to its end."

She sighed. "Now I'm going to have a shower, and change. You might want to take a look at the data I've cross-referenced so far. If they agree to my proposal, or us to their's, we'll need several modifications to the equipment they'll be using while they stay. I may not be able openly to use their full combat capabilities, but their ability to interface directly to other systems is another matter. After all, even the 33S could manage tighter integration with a conventional hardsuit, and their's won't need to be anything other than cosmetic.

"I won't be long."

And taking the tea, and also a cream-cake from the tray, Sylia moved quickly to the door, and left the room.

* * *

"You didn't give me much warning," Nene complained miserably, staring blearily at the small screen as she lifted a hand to her tangled hair. "I'm supposed to be on night-shift this evening."

She was still in bed, having been woken by the phone, and the results of all that had happened the night before were still very much in evidence. "Can't it wait? I wan'a get more sleep."

She yawned.

"No," said Sylia simply, her own expression nevertheless softening a little as she studied the youngest member of her team.

Nene's red hair was a tangled cascade, and her green eyes were bloodshot, and seemed to have trouble focusing.

"Oh, all right," she sighed, pulling a face. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I don't suppose the others complained?" she added hopefully.

"I called you first," said Sylia with a sudden mock-cruel smile.

"What!" Nene exclaimed. "I could have had another few minutes."

Turning away in disgust, she lay down once more, curled up into a ball, and pulled the covers up over her head.

"Nene! Behind you!" Sylia's voice was suddenly almost ear-splittingly loud as she put her mouth to the phone.

"AIYAAGH! WHAT!" Nene shrieked, shooting bolt upright and trying to turn at the same time.

The bedclothes had other ideas. For a moment she flailed wildly, trying desperately to disentangle herself. Then with another shriek and a thud, she tumbled to the floor, and lay in a heap. From the phone came the sound of Sylia's suddenly almost girlish laughter.

"You wait!" Nene exclaimed, struggling from the tangle, and glaring at her image. "Just you wait!"

"Gladly; but not too long," Sylia answered.

And with another smile, and an imperious wave, she broke the connection.

"You'll be sorry. Oo! Just wait! You'll be just so sorry!" Nene fumed, her heart still racing as she got at last to her feet.

She glared furiously at the phone for a moment. Then her face broke into a grin, and giggling she began to make some sense of the bed before moving to shower, and dress.

* * *

"Well?" Quincy's tone was cool and quiet as he regarded the tiny figure.

The buma shifted, her tiny delicate face impassive as she moved closer, until it was only inches from his own.

"The game is being played exactly as you predicted, Quincy-chachou," she answered quietly.

Her voice was surprisingly mature for a creature of her size, but the tiny mouth nevertheless gave it a piping, childlike quality. "Fellini is suspicious, but he can't understand why you chose Madeleine."

"And—?"

"Performing exactly to specifications," The machine interrupted easily. "Shall I replay the recording?"

"Add it to the data; I'll watch it in a few minutes," he said.

Without a word, the diminutive buma lowered herself with a fluid grace to a sitting position, one tiny hand reaching for the unit Quincy had so recently set aside. A moment later, she had attached a cable to a port in her left wrist, and data was streaming from her to the micro-palm-top beside her.

"Done," she said after a second or so, removing the cable, and standing once more.

She lifted her wrist, holding it to her delicate mouth for a moment. Then dropping her hand once more, she danced a curtsy to the chairman.

"Shall I return to Fellini?" she inquired.

"There's no longer any need," he answered. "I already have two eyes and two ears close to Fellini."

"Then I can go to them now?" she said, sudden excitement tingeing her small voice.

"Not just yet," he said. "I need to be certain that Fargo reaches the Knight Sabres before this evening's proceedings begin, and that will not be long. I imagine I can trust the two to deliver him; he has already been taken; but I must be certain. The Knight Sabres must already be close to the place they've chosen as a refuge before Fellini is allowed to escape. See to it, if necessary. Observe if not."

"Hai, Quincy-chachou," she answered.

"Once you are certain Fargo has been delivered unharmed, you may begin to track them. However, see that you remain out of sight until the perfect moment. Do you understand? I don't want you telling me later that it was an accident." Abruptly his voice was a low rumble of warning.

"I understand," she said quietly.

"Very well. You may go."

The diminutive machine curtsied once more. Then with a lithe bound she was across the expanse of the office, and a moment later the door had closed behind her.

"The final test," said Quincy quietly. "If you match, or outshine my expectations Sylia, then…"

And with a smile, he lifted the palm-top, and began to watch the recording of the interplay between Fellini and the girl everyone within Genom tower, save the scientist and himself, believed to be his daughter.

* * *

"I can't believe it! I _really_ can't believe it!" Priss was standing with her back to Sylia's repaired bay window, hands on her hips as she glared furiously across at her leader. Completely unperturbed, Sylia relaxed in an armchair, sipping at her tea while regarding Priss with calm implacable eyes. "You want to make those two…those two things temporary Knight Sabres! Are you serious!"

"I've never been more so," said Sylia quietly.

"Are you sure that thing didn't give you too much of whatever it was this morning!" Priss exclaimed. "You're absolutely crazy. There's no way I'm trusting one of those things. I don't give a damn what you, or them, or anyone else says. The things are top-line Genom military combat machines! Hell; they make C-55s and 33Cs look like kid's toys, and tame as a bloody kitten in comparison! And if you think for one moment that I'm gunna trust a piece of experimental Genom military combat sh*t with my back in a fight…! I won't do it! I _can't_! I—"

"Priss, calm down and listen." Sylia's tone was as reasonable as before, but her eyes showed just a hint of kindling anger. "You're already dead. You've been dead since Marina identified you. There is absolutely _no reason_ for the DAs to dissemble with us. They have all they need to kill or take us whenever they wish."

"Maybe they're waiting for further instructions," Priss snarled back, something almost desperate in her words.

"Why?" Sylia answered simply. "What possible purpose would delaying our capture serve? Think! If they are Genom operatives, they might just as well take us immediately."

"And suppose they want to observe to see how we interact? Suppose the next batch of prototypes have Sylia, Linna, Nene and Priss written on their bloody packing crates?" Priss demanded, her voice rising with every word until she was almost shouting at Sylia.

"They already have enough data for that," Sylia answered, her own voice just as cool and reasonable. "Priss, you don't believe seriously that Genom haven't been recording every move we make during combat?

"I'm not guaranteeing anything. The fact that the DAs know our identities is not something to take lightly; indeed it could be catastrophic. But it's something we're simply going to have to accept, and something that was inevitable.

"Yes: the possibility exists that they're playing particular roles until it's no longer necessary, something for which they're ideally suited; they may even be unaware of that fact. But at least if they're with us, we've a hope of keeping them under surveillance while I search for a counter, or a design weakness we can exploit, assuming any such weakness exists. A forlorn hope perhaps, but it's the only one we have.

"But that isn't all. Don't forget that there are four more prototypes, waiting to be activated, and without Marina or Camilla or both, we have no way to identify them, and no hope of survival. And then there's the additional data: the second aspect to the DA project of which Zhuranovsky was so terrified that he died trying to reach us in time.

"It's up to you. I can't force you to agree to this, and certainly I won't make the offer unless I have the consent of everybody in this room. But I can't see any other way. We _can't_ beat them as things stand Priss. There is no hope; none. It doesn't matter what I do to the suits. Even if I could upgrade them to the point at which they could match the DAs strength for strength, and that isn't impossible, the most important limitations are in here," she pointed to her head, then to each of theirs in turn. "The DAs are simply _vastly_ faster than we could ever hope to be, and able to learn and adapt beyond anything we can conceive. Quite simply, no matter what I do with our equipment, we will _never_ match them."

"Then why the _hell_ did you finish putting the thing together!" Priss demanded almost in a shriek.

"Because it was academic whether we had to deal with Marina as she was, or as an Elite, and without the upgrade she could not have dealt with Camilla," she answered simply. "I had to work under the assumption that Zhuranovsky had removed all Genom influence. If he has, and the two are free, then we've doubled our advantage, an advantage that may prove the difference between death and our survival. If not, then at the least we've the chance to observe, and search for a fault, slim as that chance may be. It will give me time Priss, time we desperately need."

Priss sat silent, her red-brown eyes darting between the faces of the only people she could truly call a family. Nene was nodding slowly in agreement with Sylia's explanation. Linna, who had only seen and heard what Sylia's security system had recorded of the DAs' time in the apartment, sat very still, her expression sombre as her eyes roved restlessly about the room. Yet Priss felt that she too saw no other way.

To her surprise, it was Mackie who seemed most uncertain. He was shaking his head slowly, and his face was tight and grim as he watched his sister intently.

For a long moment Sylia remained, her gaze fixed intently upon Priss's face as she watched the struggle play itself out in the young singer's mind.

Slowly, Priss stirred as though to speak. Then in the next moment a faint sound from beyond the door to the flat brought all of them to their feet. The security system had not indicated any intruder, which left little doubt as to their callers.

"I'll answer it," said Sylia quietly.

"Not alone," said Priss, drawing the heavy pistol, and moving with Sylia to the door. (I know it's pointless, but it makes me feel better."

Sylia nodded, flashing her a smile as she unlocked the door, and swung it aside.

"Come in, Marin—" she started to say.

In the next instant she staggered back as Fargo's limp form tumbled against her, and slid to lie in a crumpled heap at her feet.

* * *

He was alive. That was the first thought that penetrated the blackness. Then the oblivion was receding at frightening speed, and a moment later full awareness came to him, and he gasped and began to stir.

"Welcome back," said a quiet familiar voice.

Fargo started, and opened his eyes.

For one confused moment he expected to find himself in one of the many meeting-places he had chosen, or perhaps in some hospital or secret sterile room, with banks of monitors, and tubes connected to his arms and legs. The reality was so utterly unexpected that it seemed almost absurd.

He was seated in a comfortable armchair in what seemed to be a very well-appointed sitting-room, while she sat facing him across a low table, a cup held in one hand while the other rested lightly on the battered case he had carried, and which now stood on the floor beside her chair. Glancing passed her, he saw that they were alone in the room, and that its door was closed, and the curtains had been drawn.

"I must admit that of all the things I could have expected, to have you dumped almost in my lap wasn't exactly the most likely."

"I don't recall being given a choice," he said quietly. "in fact, I don't recall arriving here at all, wherever here is."

"Hardly surprising," Sylia answered with a smile, and a knowing look. He wasn't going to find that out, he realised. "You were drugged, and left here with a note tucked in a pocket of that appalling coat of your's assuring me that you'd be back with us in less than half an hour, the reason you're here, and not somewhere a little less conspicuous."

"Meaning that I'm a dangerous commodity?" he answered with a crooked smile of his own.

"That remains to be seen," she said. "but if I guess correctly as to why you're here," she tapped the case, "I should say a long, if not a permanent holiday might well be in order."

Fargo shivered.

"I'm sorry Sylia," he said, his tone suddenly quiet, and intensely sincere. "Believe me, I had no idea our connection had been so much as hinted at, let alone so completely compromised."

"There's no proof that it has, at least by Genom," she said quietly. "You have nothing to apologise for. The DAs are formidable adversaries, if they are adversaries."

Fargo started, staring at her in open-mouthed shock.

"You know about the DA project?" he gasped. "I was gathering information; I had intended to warn you before, but it was all hearsay and rumour, and I had no evidence. Then early this afternoon—"

"I, or rather we found out purely by chance, last night; at least, some of it," she said quietly. "The principle scientist, Zhuranovsky, came to us for help.

"However, that's not important. You say you intended to contact me about the project? Then I assume what you have for me is in this?" She gestured again to the case.

"Yes," he answered. And while she listened, he told her of his meeting with Lee Hao Seng.

"You think he is, or rather _was_ a rebel?" she inquired.

"If my information is correct, yes," he told her. "I don't believe Reikka Chang had been informed of the MegaTokyo branch's intentions to hire the Knight Sabres."

"Mm," she said quietly. "Probably she'd have approached us directly had she known; we've dealt with her before.

"But that's not the reason you're so uneasy, and I'm certain that's not the reason Genom, if it was Genom, had Lee terminated. There's something more sinister: another side to the DA project of which even Marina dared not speak openly."

"It's all in there," he jabbed a finger at the case. "The research, the evidence, and a…" he shuddered, "a sample of the weapon; assuming the phial hasn't shattered."

Abruptly he laughed, a short hard sound. "But then if it had, I doubt I'd be talking to you now."

"Meaning?" she demanded.

"Meaning that quite literally, Zhuranovsky's work was only half the project," he said quietly.

And while Sylia listened in stark, leaping horror, Fargo told her what he knew.

* * *

"I can't call in sick again, Sylia!" Nene protested urgently. "If things blow up tonight…"

Mackie had left a little over half an hour before to drive a willingly blindfolded Fargo to the garage, where he could remain hidden until they could reach Marina to see whether it was safe to let him return to the streets, and the others were gathered again in Sylia's sitting-room after having listened several times to the talk between him and Sylia. She had tried to contact Marina and Camilla using the encryptian key the DA had provided. But there had been no response, and they could not afford to wait.

All sat very still, numb and horror-stricken at what Fargo had revealed, and what the remaining data Marina had given to Sylia had confirmed. Nene was clutching a pad in her lap, staring at the screen as though it might reveal some impossible solution on its own. Linna slumped in her chair, an untouched drink on the little table at her side. But Priss sat clenched, a glass of strong wine in her hand, her face tight and closed as she glared out into the late afternoon.

"Nene, I wouldn't ask if we didn't need you," said Sylia quietly. Her own tone was, as always, unnervingly calm, but her expression was grim, and it was plain that she was maintaining her composure only by fierce discipline. "We have to take the estate tonight, while that madman is still occupied in the tower. And we've already lost precious time. If we don't… If he escapes…"

"Couldn't we warn Genom?" said linna, her voice almost shrilling in desperation. "If he releases those things Sylia, and we're anywhere near that place…!"

"What?" Priss demanded, snapping out of her apparent stupor, and whirling to glare in her direction.

"Perhaps," said Sylia. "but even assuming Quincy isn't aware of what Fellini intends, there'd be little they could do. A strike-team of combat buma isn't exactly what's needed, and any attempt to attack the estate could precipitate the most appalling retaliation. If—"

She was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

Moving quickly to it, she answered it to see Mackie's face, his expression as frantic as she had ever known it.

"Six buma!" he said urgently, "about five blocks away. I'd just started back when the rampage began. Whatever the hell they are, they're not C-55s, and they're aiming at people rather than property."

"Damn!" Sylia exploded vehemently. "Tonight of all nights; assuming of course this isn't some diversion for our benefit!

"When—"

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he assured her.

"WE'LL be waiting."

She broke the connection, and turned to face the others.

"I think it's started," Was all she said.

* * *

Madigan stood once more before the chairman, his steel-hard gaze fixed appraisingly on her as she waited for him to speak.

"It has begun?" he said calmly.

"The first six were activated two minutes ago, almost on the edge of the canyons," she answered. "They are performing flawlessly. The second four are waiting inside the Hot Legs nightclub, and will be activated ten minutes from now. That should give the Knight Sabres time to reach the sight of the first rampage. The third will begin their attack, starting at the Tinsel City bank, seven minutes after the second. The fourth have reported that they have found the hotel in which the two prototypes have taken refuge. They are ready to track them the moment the Bu-12B rampage begins. Do you want the building levelled?"

"Ensure as much destruction as possible," Quincy answered simply. "There is still no word concerning Zhuranovsky?"

"He is not with the prototypes, and the assassins have detected nothing so far."

"Very well. When will the transport pass the hotel?"

"Exactly eight minutes after the third rampage begins," Madigan answered. "The four Bu-12Bs have been instructed to destroy their transport ten seconds after it passes the building. They will make for it immediately they emerge."

"Excellent," said Quincy. "And our final trump?"

"Is waiting outside. Do you want to see her now?"

"Alone," he answered. "You know what to do regarding Fellini?"

"Perfectly," Madigan assured him, her face suddenly a mask of ice as she smiled.

"Very well," said Quincy. "You may go."

Madigan bowed deeply, then turning she moved quickly across the plush expanse of the office to the door, pausing for a moment on the threshold to beckon forwards the tall figure who stood cloaked in shadow beyond.

"Quincy-chachou is waiting," she said, and hurried quickly away.

A moment later the figure stepped into the room, and glided silently to the desk of the chairman. There she stood facing him, still as though carven in marble. She was very tall, and exotically beautiful, her long raven-black hair tumbling in a wild cascade to her waist, her face grim and inscrutable. Only in the fathomless dark eyes could one see into the soul, and in those eyes was a hatred more absolute than the chairman had ever seen; and it pleased him.

For a long moment neither spoke. Then slowly the tall figure stirred.

"Give me one reason I should not tear out your black heart, and feed it to you where you sit," she snarled softly.

Quincy stirred, and a slow cold smile spread across his face.

"The answer to that, Ligeia, is simple," he said calmly. "As with your namesake in Poe's tale, you will not own this body until I deem the time is right.

"Madeleine, I believe it's time."

And in that moment, shock filled the face and eyes, and Madeleine Amura began to scream.

* * *

Fellini was in a pathological rage.

The tests on what was left of Yoshida had been flawless so far as the chairman's requirements were concerned, but for his purposes, of no use at all. He could not have believed that they could have been so incompetent. The idiots had taken too long to preserve him, and he had suffered severe brain-damage, with the result that the data Fellini had been able to copy was a broken travesty of what he needed.

He had wanted – tried to demand – that he be allowed to perform the experiment on Daitokuji, insisting that he could not possibly guarantee Amura's safe transfer without a successful test. But the chairman was adamant that Madeleine be prepared without delay.

Seething in impotent fury, Fellini had ordered the still inactive DA that had been moved early that morning to the hastily converted laboratory, removed from her tank, and upgraded, while the last DA-2134 prototype was burned with the base driver firmware, only to discover that he was to provide only the Amura data and an OMS bootstrap, and that the chairman had made other arrangements regarding the DA's initialisation.

Fellini had wanted to storm to Quincy's office, and blow the senile old fool's head through the window, but he had forced himself to calm. None of this was important. Once he and Liana reached his estate and the others, they would learn whom to obey. Oh yes, they would learn.

Fellini had been somewhat amused to see Liana's reaction when he told her what was to happen. She had stepped a pace towards him, her face twisting in a paroxysm of vicious, puerile rage. She had remained still for a moment. Then with a low snarl, she had whirled away from him, and stormed to where the technicians were still busy with the buma. There she had remained, seething in one of the blackest most dangerous moods in which Fellini had ever seen her, watching silently as they completed their work, and reassembled the DA while he had watched her, and tried to contain his own sadistic laughter. His revenge could not have been more beautiful.

It had taken several minutes for the ragged remains of the disguising skin to cover the machine once more, even under the intense radiation to which she had been subjected to speed the repair. Through the growth and activation, Fellini had remained seemingly impassive, even as his rage at the pointless loss of Yoshida had surged and boiled, fighting with his twisted contentment as he watched Liana, until it seemed that he could not tell which was the more potent emotion.

Even when the tall, fair-haired Ligeia had been linked into the OMS under the control of the simple bootstrap driver, and had risen to move to the door, Fellini had remained as though frozen at Liana's side, watching unmoving as the empty Bu-33DA-Elite left the laboratory, the door hissing almost silently closed behind her.

It had been a cold hand on his arm that had brought him back to the present at last.

Slowly he stirred, seeming only then to look again with rational sight at the men and women who stood now almost silent, gazing uncertainly about them as though awaiting some further command. For a long moment he remained still. Then at last he stirred.

"You may stand down for the present," he said quietly, his own voice seeming to him to come from some great distance.

Then without another word, he turned and stalked from the laboratory, Liana gliding silently beside him. Not until they had reached the living quarters behind the research centre, and were alone in their tiny three-room suite did he turn to her.

"It's time to leave," was all he said.

* * *

"…and if you expect me to stand by while good men and women get blown to hell because you haven't the damn guts to stand up to some idiot upstairs whose pay comes straight from Quincy's pocket, then you know what the hell you can do!"

Leon McNichol whirled away, and stormed from the office.

"McNichol! You arrogant baka! Get your sorry a*se back in here!" Todo screamed.

Leon paid no attention.

"Idiot!" he hissed with far more than his usual vehemence as he strode back to his desk, and snatched up the cup of lukewarm coffee.

Tossing it back with a grimace of disgust, he dropped wearily behind the desk once more.

It had not been a good day. It had started with him arriving to find that Nene would not be on shift until that evening, which put two investigations of his own that required her particular talents on hold until he saw her. Then there had come a report of buma trouble at the docks, and he and Daley had gone down there to find that a Genom clean-up crew had been there before them, and that no one was willing to talk. Then in the early afternoon a call had come in concerning another rampage, this one near one of the dives on the edge of the canyons. Again he had gone, and this time there was nothing but dead bodies, and a smashed building or too, and some of the bodies looked suspiciously as though they had been shot with heavy pistols; not exactly buma ammo.

He had returned in a mood even blacker than the one he had been in all day, only to find that he would be doing a double shift yet again, and for no good reason he could see. Not that there was anything new in that; but today he just was not in the mood. Finally, he had learnt less than half an hour before that Nene had called in sick again, and there would be no hope of relieving the boredom with the work he wanted to do.

"Damn you to hell," he muttered again with feeling as he shot a killing look in the direction of Todo's office.

"Thanks; nice to see you too," said Daley with a grin as he dragged up a chair, and settled himself by Leon.

"Hmph!" Leon retorted sourly. "Did you ever get the feeling we're just wasting our time?"

"Every day," Daley answered cheerfully. "What's up?"

"Ah, the hell with it," said Leon moodily. "What the hell does it matter if we get our a*ses blown away? They don't give a damn, anyway."

"Well someone's in a fine mood tonight, I must say," Daily observed, still grinning. "What's started this all of a sudden?"

"We've had eight K-12s in maintenance for six days," said Leon. "Eight! And when I complain about it, I get some damn, stupid bullsh*t about funds available, and management of resources in relation to the current situation. What the hell is that supposed to mean!

"Bullsh*t!" he snarled again, bringing his hand down on the desk for emphasis. "We're the one's who've got to go out there and clean up Genom's trash for them, and I get some bullsh*t about resource management!"

Slamming down the empty cup, he rose to his feet, and stalked away from his desk, then back once more.

"Feel better now?" Daley inquired.

"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do?" Leon demanded as though really expecting an answer. "It'd serve the bastards right if things _did_ blow up tonight—"

He stopped short as a sudden flurry of activity caught their attention.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you you should be careful what you wish for?" Daley observed dryly as a dispatcher came racing towards them. "I think your's has just been granted."

* * *

Things were a disaster, but then Hiroshi Davis never expected anything else in this job. He knew what he was; cannon-fodder for any buma that decided its next particle-beam had his name on its business end.

"Sh*t, I hate my job!" he muttered without much feeling, as he peered out from behind the impromptu barricade he and the others had finished erecting a scant minute before. It was a joke like everything else, but that didn't matter. Hiroshi was sure it wouldn't be standing for long, once the buma reached their end of the street.

The truth was that he didn't much care any more. He had become numb to the danger once an incident began, no matter how scared he thought he was. It was only when everything was over that he started shaking.

They were getting closer. He could hear the whine of charging weapons, and the spit of plasma as the machines fired, and the cracks and screams as something, or someone exploded.

"Stupid bastards!" hiroshi swore venomously under his breath. "They just won't be told. Wouldn't matter if you beat the bastards senseless and dumped them on the other side of the city, they'd find a way to crawl back to get themselves killed."

Another scream.

"Well, that one got more of a look than he bargained for."

Hiroshi sniggered bitterly, then sobered. He was on the edge of losing it again. It was the adrenalin, and the fear, and the exhilaration of the coming fight, and the fact that he wanted to slam through the roof of Genom tower, and splash the chairman's brains across the plush carpet of his office, for screwing up so many lives.

Taking several breaths to calm himself, Hiroshi moved to climb the barricade. To hell with orders; he was going to get a better view. He had almost found a suitable perch when there came a sudden hiss from above, and a cruiser was turned into a fireball barely ten yards from where Hiroshi was climbing.

"Holy Jesus of Nazareth!" he heard his own voice scream as a second explosion pitched him from his precarious perch like a rag-doll.

A moment later it was all crashing and firing, and the frantic sounds of men and women screaming hopelessly for backup.

"Bastards! Bastards! Bastards!" hiroshi was snarling as he struggled desperately to his feet.

Then turning, he fled to the further end of the street. He had lost his gun in the explosion: not that the thing was much good, and he would only be in the way until they could get him into something a bit less easy to blow to pieces. He arrived with several others at the new lines just as several cruisers screamed to a halt, and the first of the helicopters began dropping K-12s into the fray.

* * *

Leon was already out, and running as Daley pulled to a stop.

"What's the situation?" he demanded, stumbling to a halt beside a white-faced sergeant. It was an idiot of a question, he was sure. The situation would be as much of a mess as always.

"There're six of them, so far," The man panted. There was blood on his face from a cut just below his left eye, and he was shaking so much that he could barely talk. "They're not the usual C-class things from what I could see: smaller and lighter, and whatever the hell they are, they're fast, and slippery as snakes! They seem to be going for people rather than property: vicious little bastards; we've already lost Keen and Takahashi. But they don't seem to pack the punch of a '55."

"Sh*t!" Leon swore feelingly. "Just what we need! Have you—"

The rest of his sentence was cut off by an explosion, followed by the crash of one of the helicopters.

"Whatever they are, these bastards can fly," Came a shout over the comms. "Get your damn a**es under cover!"

A moment later people seemed to be running everywhere.

Cursing, Leon moved back to the cruiser, reaching it just as something came hurtling almost from above to crash down on the sergeant he had just left. Staring, suddenly frozen in place, Leon watched helplessly as the machine leapt skywards, the screaming man held between both hands. Then there was a sickening tearing sound as it cut and pulled his head almost negligently from his body, and sent it spinning into the ranks of the ADP, before pitching the body through the plate-glass of a nearby shop front, and soaring away.

Gagging, choking back the bile that was desperately trying to escape, Leon lifted his arm for a hopeless shot.

"Leon, get the hell down!"

Daley's scream just penetrated in time to save his life as he dived from the path of a bolt that blew a crater into the pavement on which he had been standing a scant moment before.

Then Daley was dragging him behind the cruiser, and away, and a moment later it was nearly cut in two by the flash of another shot from above. The resulting explosion sent the two men spinning through the air to land in a choking, panting heap almost under the wheels of yet another cruiser as it swerved wildly to a stop.

Half stunned, Leon sat up, trying desperately to shake the stars from his head. Then suddenly, the familiar: "Knight Sabres; sanjo!" brought him staggering to his feet just in time to see the four hardsuited figures drop from above.

"Ok you bastards," he heard from one, and smiled as he watched the blue hardsuit leap forwards. "let's dance!"

* * *

She was in her element. This was what she needed, and tonight more than ever. She was just in the right mood to beat buma into a thin metallic paste, and it helped her take her mind off her horror at the appalling enormity of their situation, and what they might have soon to do.

And yet, even as she surged into battle, an additional tight unease lurked behind the adrenalin and the fury. Priss knew why. It was that damn nightmare, haunting her now because it was the first time she had fought since the stupid dream had started bothering her. Why the hell did it have to come distracting her tonight of all nights? Why couldn't it just leave her alone?

There were six of the things, nominally male in design, inasmuch as there were no obvious female features, and somewhat smaller and lighter even than the average for a 33C. Well, that suited her; two for each of them. Nene's role tonight would be even more defensive than usual, since a new type of buma meant her staying in the background unless she was needed, and gathering as much information as she could.

Grinning savagely, determined to shake herself from the lurking anxiety she was certain both the dream and all that had happened had precipitated, Priss flipped effortlessly from the grappling lunge of the machine that seemed eager to put its arms around her, and nailed it to the head. At least, that was what she intended. The trouble was that the head was not where it had been a split second before, and in the next instant she leapt back with a curse as the thing tried to sink gleaming, buma teeth into her armoured hand.

"Sh*t! Vicious little bastard!" she snarled. "All right! Now you've made me mad!"

Spinning from another lunge, she fired at almost point-blank range into the snarling mouth, and gasped in shock as the little thing slipped like a snake from her shot, slithering aside with astounding speed and agility, before retaliating with a lightning-fast slash of its gleaming claws that she just managed to avoid.

"Hey Sylia, what the hell are these things?" she demanded, pushing down the tightening unease with a savage shake of her head. She was damned if some idiot dream was going to make her paranoid in the middle of a fight.

"My thoughts exactly," Linna added.

"I'm not sure," Sylia answered, her own voice showing no sign of apprehension. "Some kind of covert security model I think, but considerably faster than usual for such machines."

"Oh great. Now they've gone and upgraded the troops as well," Priss growled darkly as she avoided yet another vicious swipe. "Keep still, damn it!" she snarled at the buma that was managing still to keep just out of her reach. "I've got a rail-gun spike with your name on it!"

"At least they don't seem to have the armament of '55s." Linna commented.

"Don't underestimate them," Sylia warned, her words sparking a sudden irrational thrill of closer and tighter fear tingling down Priss's spine. "They're fast, and I'm beginning to suspect that they've been upgraded with some of the DA combat routines. These things aren't stupid.

"Nene?"

"I can't seem to upset them at all" she answered, her tone suddenly uneasy. "and I'm not reading much from them either. Sylia, I don't like this. I think for some reason they may be running on minimal power. Be careful."

"I can't nail them damn it," Linna cut in. "They're too fast."

"Yeah; they're not exactly standing still," Priss agreed tightly as she tried yet again to take the head from the machine that was duelling with her. "Keep the hell still, damn you!" she cursed.

* * *

Leon watched in growing unease as the fight progressed. As vicious as these things were, they didn't seem to be able to damage the Sabres' suits. He had seen them connect several times, and the machines seemed to have far less impact than he had expected. Even the usual beam-weapon in the mouth seemed a poor counterpart to the deadly C-55 equivalent. Not that that had helped the unprotected ADP. But what was concerning him now was the fact that the six machines were matching the Sabres move for move, and were managing to keep out of range.

* * *

"Damn this, Sylia!" Priss exploded in growing frustration. The unease would not leave her alone, and the vicious little buma was managing still to keep just beyond her reach, twisting and slithering this way and that as though to taunt her. "Why not treble-team these things? They don't seem really to be able to hurt us, and I've had just about enough of the dance lesson and this savage little bastard trying to bite my hand off, for one night."

She knew it was ridiculous: that it was just the irrational fear of her dream scenario, coupled with the far more rational horror precipitated by all she had learnt in the last hour. But the fight seemed to have gone on for ever in her growing anxiety, and she wanted it over as soon as possible.

"It's worth a try," Sylia agreed.

"Which one?" Linna asked.

Sylia pointed, and immediately the three hardsuits converged on one of the buma.

"No! _Wait_!" The shriek caught all of them by surprise, and nearly put Priss's heart in her mouth.

"What the hell?" she demanded, whirling furiously towards Nene, her fuse far shorter even than usual. "Don't do that!"

"The others moved towards the ADP lines as soon as you started ignoring them." Nene answered tightly.

"Damn it!" Priss swore, the irrational unease surging suddenly to a tight, leaping fear.

Something was horribly wrong with this whole scenario. She could not have explained the sudden certainty, nor why or how she was so sure. She knew only that they had to finish this; they had to finish it, now.

"Oy!" she shouted, gesturing furiously at the watching ADP. "If you want to get yourselves killed, go do it somewhere else."

There were a few glares, but most seemed to appreciate her point, and none seemed eager to get too close to the fight after what had happened before the Sabres arrived.

"Pull back," Leon ordered, seeing what the four were trying to do.

But the words were barely out before abruptly the six machines shifted into close formation, and dived straight at the barricades.

"Sylia!" Nene shrieked again. "Sylia, they knew; they anticipated—"

"I know," Sylia snapped urgently in answer . Nene; stay back, and keep scanning. Priss, Linna; with me!"

But the young ADP officer had already leapt to join them as they shot forwards on furiously hissing jets.

"Got you you little Genom bastard!" Priss cried in sudden triumph and relief, as she caught one of the machines by the arm, and whirled it savagely from the ground.

The thing was lighter even than she had expected, and despite the fact that it was snarling like a rabid dog, and a vicious upper-cut from its other arm which seemed to have as little effect as anything else the buma had tried, Priss caught its head in one gloved hand, and squeezed with all the force she had. There was a splintering crunch, and a moment later the machine went limp in her grasp.

"Not exactly conventional, but it does the job," she shouted, slamming the body straight down into the path of another of the homicidal machines.

The buma was unable to avoid the collision, and was sent spinning for a moment before its thrusters righted it.

"They're trying to split up again," Sylia warned. "Linna, you're with me."

"No! Sylia!" Priss heard her own voice shout almost before she knew she had spoken. "We have to get these things while they're close together."

"What?" Sylia demanded.

"Priss, what—" Linna began in the same moment.

"Trust me on this," Priss almost snarled, with no idea how she knew, but suddenly utterly sure she was right. "Just do it."

A moment later she was diving to meet a buma that seemed to have chosen stupidly to lunge straight up towards her.

"Priss?" Sylia said again.

"Don't worry," she cried as she reached for the illusive machine. "This one's about to join its friend in hell!"

Priss lunged again, catching its arm in the same way as she had the first, with the idea of giving it the same treatment. The things seemed less agile in the air. Ignoring a sudden irrational heightening of a sense of imminent danger, she jerked upright, hauling it towards her. And she knew, knew with a sudden leaping certainty what would happen, a moment before Nene screamed a warning. Then its other arm whipped up with the speed of a bullet. The blow sent her spinning wildly through the air to crash to the pavement some fifty feet from where she had been.

Half stunned as much with the confusing horror of the surreal premonition as with anything else, Priss staggered to her feet. She had bitten her tongue.

"Sylia! Linna! Be careful!" she ground out over the comms against the burst of rage and the sudden rising tide of irrational panic. "Nene was right. These things have been playing possum."

"What!" Sylia demanded again.

Priss opened her mouth to answer, then lurched as the unreasoning fear stabbed her viciously yet again. In the next instant she gaped in shock as the machine that had just hit her dropped to a landing before her, and began to expand.

Oh sh*t! she thought numbly, fighting savagely to maintain her equilibrium. Again, she had known; somehow she had known a split second before it had happened. But how! What in all hell was going on?

"Sylia," she managed, forcing herself to ignore everything but the urgent immediacy of the fight, "we're in trouble! My sparring partner's just decided its growing up time."

"Sylia!" Linna's voice shouted urgently. "This one's—"

"I know," Sylia answered, her own voice at last betraying something of her own tension and growing bewilderment. "So are the others. Try to keep them on ground. I'm not sure any of this is as it seems."

You're telling me! Priss thought with something suddenly close to hysterical amusement.

"They're slower I think," she said, diving from the path of the beam the expanded Black Ops assassin, or whatever the hell it was, spat at her, and rolling to her feet. "Yes, they're definitely much slower, and clumsier too I think.

"What the hell is going on? None of this makes sense!"

The machine backed away from her next lunge, its mouth opening wide in a buma snarl of rage.

Priss started forwards. Then in the next instant her growing fear leapt wildly to a hot, savage horror, and an overwhelming certainty of terrible, imminent peril. In the same instant, something she could not describe cracked like a tearing, whip-like gunshot through her head.

Reeling, her stomach clenching suddenly in primal negation, she stumbled, nearly losing her balance, sure for one horrified instant that she had been shot, as pain and giddiness and a tight, lurching nausea nearly overwhelmed her, and she fought desperately to stay on her feet. Then, even as the buma snarled again, and lunged straight towards her helmet, reality dropped away, and everything was confusion and agony, and a screaming, giddy plunge into a vast, endless oblivion.

For a ruinous, nightmare moment Priss did not know who or where she was.

Then a high, shocked scream pierced the horror: "Sylia! Sylia, the suit's frozen! I can't move!"

With another shattering whip-crack that half stunned her where she stood, Priss slammed back to the world, only the fact that it was suddenly so impossibly difficult to move keeping her from pitching headlong and grovelling on the ground.

For a space she remained, shaking like a leaf, her heart racing, too dazed and stupefied to do anything other than stare in numb incomprehension at the sight that met her eyes.

The buma lay sprawled before her, its limbs quivering and twitching feebly. But she gave it no more than a cursory glance. only a little behind it, Nene stood very still, facing her, her suit quivering and shifting in tiny spasms as she tried vainly to move, whilst some five paces further off, Linna was poised, her suit half turned as though in the midst of a manoeuvre, her monomolecular ribbon hanging limp and lifeless behind her as she stood as still and unmoving as Nene's pink-suited form.

Shivering violently with sudden cold, trying vainly to reconcile what she had just experienced with what she was seeing, Priss tried to turn her head, only to find that the suit would not respond.

"Sylia! Sylia, what's happening!" Linna's call was strangely muted and distorted, as though someone had been using Priss's helmet speakers for a particularly savage guitar riff and had not bothered to stop at the first smell of smoke.

"Neesan!" Came Mackie's voice from the van, his call having the same quality. "I've lost almost all power here. What's going on out there!"

"Stay there, Mackie!" Sylia's voice was tight, and it was only now that Priss realised how suddenly dark it had become all around them.

Then she became aware of sounds: shouting and calling, and men and women cursing furiously. A moment later, the crash and explosion of a helicopter, then another, filled the sudden eerie darkness of the night.

Still shivering, Priss tried again to move.

"Sylia, this is impossible!" Priss heard Nene gasp, her voice distorted through the suddenly under-powered communications suite. "Everything seems to have lost power: us, the ADP, the bu—"

In that instant, light leapt brilliantly into being around them once more. Priss's hardsuit surged to life, then in the next moment warnings flared in her visor.

"Shut down the suits!" The command cut through her helmet like a knife, Sylia's voice as close to panic as Priss had ever heard it.

Priss's reaction was instinctive as she closed down the power-plant, the others doing the same.

A moment later, a flash and explosion to her left made her lurch heavily in that direction, just in time to see one of the remaining buma burst into a brilliant pillar of flame. There was a second explosion, then a third, mingled with even more shouting and cursing from the ADP.

Then there came the sudden scream of tyres, and a moment later the van pulled wildly to a halt almost beside her.

"In! _Now_!" Sylia's tone brooked no argument. "Use just enough power to move; no more."

The others did not have to be told twice.

Turning, lurching a little as the suits strained with the minimal power they were being given, the three followed Sylia in a frantic scramble for the van. They were inside, and Priss, who had been last, was about to close the door, when another explosion followed by sudden wild shouting made them turn.

For a moment all four froze, gaping in utter stupefaction at what they saw. In the very midst of the blazing ruin of one of the downed ADP machines, a swirling vortex of darkness had appeared, its ragged edges spitting a lurid dancing corona as it swallowed the orange glow of fire. Then within the growing centre of the maelstrom, human-like shapes began to coalesce, at first vague and ill-defined, yet solidifying with impossible swiftness, until with a sudden blinding flash and explosion, they came tumbling into the street, some screaming as they burst into flame, others diving wildly from the fire, stumbling and staggering to safety.

"What the _hell_!" Priss was barely aware that she had gasped the question aloud.

Then men and women were screaming orders, and in the next instant the ADP were racing to the still-blazing machine, struggling to pull the figures from the fire. For a moment, the strangers seemed too dazed and stupefied to react. then suddenly one of them twisted violently from the grip of the woman who had just dragged her to safety.

As the Knight Sabres watched, still too stunned to move, her arm seemed suddenly to shift and change, the fingers of her hand elongating into tendrils that resembled nothing so much as the thick, trailing vines of a plant. Then in the next instant the ADP officer screamed as the thing lunged at her, the vine-like fingers curling around her arms and throat.

For a moment the creature held her immobile. Then baring her teeth, she snarled: "You have but a heart-beat to answer me, before I rip you apart where you stand! Where are the honourless cowards who have brought us to this place? Where are the destroyers of our future, and our hope? Where are the Senshi?"

** ** **

Notes:

** ** **

Yep; this was number two! Although by far my favourite of the first five chapters, this very nearly spelt the end of the whole thing, simply because it was so damn big, needed one hell of a lot of revision, often at every turn, and I just could never get the motivation to tackle it. SME alone convinced me in the end to make the attempt. Without that, this would never have been fixed.

My only disappointment is that I believe I'll never write the stand-alone for this: the events as they would have unfolded without DC, something I'd very much have liked to do. I've always believed the story could be superb, and deserves to be told. I've planned it out, and know what would have happened. But it would simply be too vast an undertaking.

** ** **

* * *


	6. Book I: Part I: Chapter VI

As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

Disclaimer:

Own only original stuff; not doing this for profit; suing would be pointless.

* * *

"Oh God! Oh God; please! Not yet! Just a little longer! Just a little more!"

With a low, agonised gasp, he forced his cracked and bleeding hands beneath him, and began to push himself upright yet again. It seemed to take an eternity, while pain racked his ruined body, and the world spun giddily around him. But at last he rocked backwards, and surged to his feet with a convulsive effort. For a moment he teetered, gasping desperately for air, his heart labouring wildly in his chest while the relentless pounding beat in savage counterpoint behind his starting, bloodshot eyes. He had long passed the limits of his endurance, but he would not die; not yet.

Knowing it was too soon, but desperate to keep moving, he took another faltering step forwards, and almost collapsed once more as another dry, hacking spasm seized him. For a moment he doubled over, blood splashing on his parched lips as he hacked and gasped, his face set and grim against the tearing agony of the hunger and thirst beyond all the torments he could once have imagined he could endure. Yet at last the fit passed, and he raised his head once more to the ruinous, shattered world that surrounded him.

Just a little further, his thought murmured to him through the anguish and the pain. Just a little more, and you can rest at last; rest with them.

Gritting his teeth, fighting back the nausea, he set his will, and began to move once more, while overhead the bloated, ghastly thing that had once been the sun, climbed huge and horrible in the east, wreathed in a blazing aurora of fire, rising like some lurid vampire of death, feasted and satiated upon the very life-blood of the Earth, surging and waning as with some inner mockery of breath and heartbeat, as it laboured, raging and hell-red into the eastern sky, bringing yet another dreadful dawn to the ruinous wreck of the world; the last dying star in a dead reality.

For a moment despite himself, he halted once more, transfixed as though in horrid fascination, staring aghast and helpless as the livid, putrid hell-light began to cast the ruinous land about him into stark blacks and blood-reds, the shadows surging, then fleeing swiftly before it as though the very night itself turned in loathing for this mocking travesty of day and the promise it could no longer bring, while the lurid, ghastly face leered down in twisted, hideous delight upon the wreck and ruin it had wrought.

Shuddering, forcing back the clawing, panic-terror at the memory of that last dreadful night, he turned from the terrible visage of the ruined sun, and began to move once more, keeping his smarting eyes fixed upon the ground before him, lest they fail at last before he reached his last home, and the ending of his journey.

The dreadful day grew swiftly, and the geiger counter began to hiss as the ambient radiation sawed in minutes to a hundred, then a thousand times that considered death for man or woman as the huge hell-sun beat down mercilessly through the last remnants of the failing atmosphere, the scent of ozone and burning growing heavy about him as the air hissed and writhed, while ion trails blazed in the wake of the death-dealing light of the dying star.

Grimacing with a savage sardonic smile, he reached for the now useless device, and pulling it from his pocket, he crushed it in his fist, and dashed it with a sudden momentary fury to the ground. It no longer mattered. There was no longer any need for him to hide out the day in what little shelter he could find; he was almost at his goal.

Stumbling on, he passed the ruins of some long-burned rubble that might once have been the steel and concrete of the mall he and his family used to frequent. He could not be certain; the city had been scattered and shattered to its foundations in the final cataclysm.

Again, his mind turned back to that final terrible night a mere ten days before, when they had watched in stark, unimaginable terror as the nothingness had eaten up the stars with impossible swiftness, and the very fabric of reality had faltered, and crashed in ruinous fall. It had rolled towards them in the dead of night, its passage marked by the impossible flashes and flares followed by blackness that had marked the swift death of all before it. Then it had reached them, swallowing the outer planets in a flicker, devouring Mars, and lunging hungrily for the moon. It had flared a brilliant, livid red before exploding in a titanic flash of reality gone insane. Then it was upon them, and all had been cataclysmic ruin, fire, and blazing, searing pain; and when he had awakened, he had found that he was alone, the last living thing on a burned and shattered Earth, a desert world of ashes and of death.

Not far now. Through the haze of growing pain, he could see the ruins of his home, the place marked still by the huge cairn of rubble he had built upon that first day, when such things were still within his power: a monument to all that he had loved, before he had left in search of survivors so that he might return when he could, when he had still thought that there might yet be hope. Now he was coming home to rest, and to

die.

With a final effort, he crawled and clambered his way to the lip of the crater he had made. Then he was rolling and tumbling to its bottom, and a moment later he was lurching in a last, stumbling run, staggering and reeling with his last strength to halt at last by the huge flat stone upon which he had carved words that could still be seen, despite the savage cruelty of the sun, and the snarling winds of the broken world.

"Diana and Eiko," It read simply. "My life; my happiness. Rest gently here; and wait for me."

For one last time he stood in reverence, gazing down upon the grave of his wife and his only child, while his shattered body shook with silent weeping, for no tears could come to his burning eyes. Then at last Kent Magami, once the mighty man of steel, laid himself down upon the tombstone of his family, and the gentle darkness reached to claim him at last, and take from him his suffering and his pain.

** ** **

Darkness Chronicles  
An anime-Manga Cross-over

** ** **

Book I:  
Part I: The Gathering  
Chapter VI:

** ** **

Tap, tap, tap!

Eiko started, her head turning this way and that as she tried in vain to pin-point the sudden sharp sound through the wind and driving, relentless snow, while beside her, Shiko shivered and huddled closer to her in the near blackness of middle-night.

"I'm cold," she complained yet again. "Eiko, when can we get inside, and out of this snow?"

"As soon as I find Biko's head, Shiko; I told you," Answered Eiko irritably. "Damn her! She was sure she dropped it here somewhere. Why can't she be more careful with her things; what's the matter with her?"

With that, she plunged her hands into the snow once more, feeling around in the darkness in growing frustration for her rival's carelessness, until suddenly her questing hands found something cold and hard.

"Of course!" she cried in sudden triumph. "It was frozen; that's why I couldn't find it.

"Biko?" she inquired as she lifted the head free. "Are you alright?"

But the mouth only opened and closed silently, whilst from it the chattering 'tap, tap, tap' came in endless repetitive rhythm, and Shiko's giggles at her side became more and more wild, until at last they had melted into a shrieking, endless scream.

With a stifled shriek, Eiko jerked awake, staring wildly into the darkness for a moment as the wind whipped rain against her window, until at last her hammering heart slowed, and she let out a gasping breath, settling back once more.

"Oh God!" she groaned. "Remind me never _ever_ to eat anything Shiko makes, ever again!" She shook her head.

"Just a dream," she sighed softly as she pulled the covers tighter around her. "Just a stupid dream."

She sighed again and shifted, snuggling down under the blankets as the storm continued unabated, and she prepared to go back to sleep.

Then abruptly the sense of something amiss penetrated, and suddenly she realised that she could still hear the urgent, insistent tapping at her window.

With a start, Eiko flung the covers back, and sat up, reaching for the bed-side lamp, just as a flash lit the night, and thunder cracked savagely almost overhead. Startled, Eiko missed the lamp, and tumbled headlong to the floor, uttering a few choice words under her breath as she pulled herself to her feet, and moved swiftly to the window.

"Alright, whoever you are!) she growled furiously. "You're really gunna get it for that!"

With a savage jerk she wrenched back the curtains, and stared in amazed disbelief. Ine clung desperately to the sill with one hand, held from falling it seemed only by what looked like a small flight-pack settled high on her back. She was shivering violently, drenched from head to foot, one hand half raised as though to tap again. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was tight with pain.

"Thank Kami-sama!" she gasped. "I've been trying to wake you for ages! I heard you could sleep through anything, but…"

She was trying to be quiet but her voice shrilled, and Eiko shhed her urgently.

"Ine!" she cried, now alarmed as well as angry, and trying to keep her own voice as quiet as she could. "What on Earth are you doing out in this! And what do you think you're doing here in the middle of the night! Kami-sama; have you any idea what time it is!"

At the other girl's blank look, she glared at her in growing fury.

"It's nearly one in the morning, for Kami's sake!" she hissed, her eyes flashing. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Biko and Shiko!" Ine gasped, not seeming to have heard the question. "They're gone!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Eiko's eyes blazed with sudden fury, and Ine shrank back, certain for one terrifying moment that the girl would send her hurtling to the ground.

"No-no-no!" she shrilled, abandoning any pretence at decorum as Eiko's eyes burned and her face turned the colour of her hair. "It's-not-what-you-think! Yes-Biko-did-try-to-take-Shiko-to-the-mansion-but…Oh-Kami-something-happened! Oh-please! Something-came-and-they-just-disappeared-and-we've-been-looking-everywhere! Oh-please-you've-got-to-help-us!"

Abruptly, and to Eiko's stupefaction, Ine's composure cracked completely, and she began to cry, great racking sobs that shook her from head to foot while she shivered desperately with cold. "I've been trying to wake you for ten minutes" she choked out at last. "and the pack's nearly dead, and I can't hold on much longer, and I'm so cold, and it hurts!"

For a moment, caught between amazement and towering rage, Eiko could only stare stupidly. Then the last part of Ine's statement penetrated, and she reached out, catching the girl easily, and pulling her none too gently over the sill, and into the room.

With a gasp, Ine collapsed limply in her arms, shaking like a leaf as she fought desperately for control.

"Didn't have time to find something warm!" she gasped faintly as Eiko closed the window, and carried her to a chair.

She was still furious, but it was obvious that Ine was in no fit state to answer any of the innumerable questions she was tempted to scream at her.

Quickly Eiko slipped the harness from her, and dumping the pack, she settled her in the chair, turning to wrench the blankets from her bed, and drop them around Ine's wildly trembling form.

"Thanks," The other girl gasped, hugging them fiercely to her and trying desperately to rub some feeling back into her frozen fingers, while an unfamiliar gratitude fought with her natural caution and growing alarm.

Eiko would _not_ be pleased when she heard the full tale; still, there was no point in delaying the inevitable, and she needed any help she could get.

Fighting her shivering, Ine began: "Biko only told us tonight. She'd decided to bring Shiko to the mansion for a few days to…to keep her away from you, I suppose." She faltered as Eiko's face darkened still more. But Eiko said nothing, and after a moment she continued. "Asa and I were to keep watch. She had called Shiko to her window, and had just come out with her, when…" Ine broke off, staring helplessly at her clenched hands as she clutched the blankets.

"When?" Eiko demanded, her expression more fiery by the second.

"Something…something _appeared_!" Ine said helplessly. "I can't describe it any other way.

"It was one of the most horrible things I've ever seen! One moment Biko was hovering while she tucked the blanket she'd brought tighter around Shiko; in the next a black hole seemed to open almost beside them, and she…I think it was a she…came out. We couldn't see much, but it looked like the head of a woman, although the body was…" she shook her head once more.

"The thing screamed (I've never heard a scream like that, and I hope I never do again), and seemed to burst into flame. Then she was clutching for Biko's throat, although I don't really think she knew what she was doing, and pulling them both to the ground, even as she burned brighter and brighter.

"Biko was fighting, and screaming for us to shoot the thing, and then the creature exploded, and Biko just…disappeared. We thought for a moment that she might have teleported, but she wouldn't have left Shiko.

"Shiko fell, and Asa and I tried to reach her, but we were too far away. Then, Eiko, I swear Shiko just fell right through the ground as though it wasn't there. I know you won't believe me, but I tell you that's what happened.

"Eiko…Eiko, We've searched everywhere! But the Akagiyama sub-system isn't signalling, and we can't find any trace of either of them; and… Oh God" she cried suddenly. "I think Biko might be dead! And Shiko…" she turned suddenly pleading eyes to Eiko, trying unsuccessfully to dash away the tears. "We didn't know where else to go," she continued desperately at last. "The Leptonians were out of the question; That captain of their's is drunk more often than not, and God knows the mess they'd make of a search. And there's no one else."I'm sorry," she choked helplessly; "I'm so sorry! but Eiko, you've got to help us!"

For several seconds, Eiko stared at her in numb disbelief, her face alternating between rage and panic. Rage won at last, and she whirled on Ine, gripping her savagely by the shoulders while she began to shake her furiously back and forth in time to her words.

"When will you ever learn to leave us alone?" she snarled, glaring balefully into the girl's suddenly terrified face, while her grip grew tighter, and the shaking still more savage. "I warned Biko again and again; I knew something like this would happen if she didn't forget her stupid feud with me, and just grow up. But no; as usual, she couldn't see passed getting her own damn way, and trying to get back at me for her own baka reasons! Well this time she's gone too far! If anything's happened to Shiko because of her stupid quest for revenge…!"

Abruptly she seemed to realise what she had been doing, and released her hold.

Dazed, Ine slumped limply in the chair, the room spinning wildly as she stared up at her through starting terrified eyes. She had never seen Eiko more angry, and never wanted to again.

For several seconds, Eiko remained frozen, her eyes seeming to flash fire in the light of the lamp as she glared at her in silence. Then abruptly she whirled away, and stood, staring out into the storm. The thunder had abated somewhat, but the hammering downpour had grown still more in ferocity, and it was obvious that they could achieve nothing without help.

"Damn you!" she said feelingly, her voice tightly controlled as she turned at last to face Ine once more.

"All right" she continued after another moment; "how much power is left in that thing?" She gestured towards the pack.

"Not enough to be of any use," Ine answered, her shivering at last beginning to subside. "It's experimental, and Biko hasn't—"

"All right; never mind about that," Eiko interrupted impatiently. "Have you any other way of getting back to Shiko's? We'll have to start from there."

She wanted desperately to get the girl out of the house, and as soon as possible, so that she could talk to her parents. Whatever had happened, she did not like the sound of Ine's tale; she did not like the sound of it at all.

Ine made as though to answer, but at that moment Eiko's keen hearing caught the faint sounds of stirring from her parents' room, sounds lost to the other girl beneath the furious hammering of the rain.

With sudden urgency, Eiko lunged, clamping her hand tightly over Ine's mouth as she gestured furiously at her to be quiet while she listened.

* * *

As always, the memories were fragmented, almost all save the stark, mind-numbing horror, vanishing even as he started wildly from the nightmare to the quiet warmth of his wife's closeness, and the gentle pressure of her arms tight around him.

"The same?" she said softly, dark hair framing her anxious face in the soft light of the lamp.

"A week," he sighed, drawing her closer with a sudden intensely protective gesture against the terror that was still more real to him than the warm familiarity of the room and the quiet stillness. "Every night for a week, and still I can't remember! Absurd! For me of all people to suffer a sudden attack of bad dreams!"

He sighed again, his own hold tightening gently, his heart having already resumed its slow, barely perceptible rhythm.

"I could try again," she murmured gently, slender fingers moving to knead steel-tight neck-muscles with a strength far beyond human, but which could make very little impression on them for some moments.

For several seconds he remained tense and unmoving. Then with another sigh he relaxed, the tension seeping from him as he let her fingers do their work.

"What would be the point?" he answered, his tone gentle to take the sting from the failure he knew she felt. "If the lasso couldn't help—"

"It was intended to seek out the truth against the will of an adversary, not to draw out hidden memories," she reminded him gently. "I think we were mistaken to try it. If I could—"

"No," his tone was still gentle, but with a sudden finality that silenced her, and stilled her fingers for a moment. "I won't have you in danger should something go wrong, and I react to you trying to probe my mind for something so trivial as a nightmare."

"Do you really trust yourself so little after all this time?" she said softly, her eyes warm and intense in the lamp-light as her fingers stilled once more, her mind reaching to touch lightly at his own, the gentle, tingling warmth easing the last of the tension from him as he tightened his hold a little, and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Diana," he said gently. "I know it's absurd after so long; but it's frustrating, not to mention unsettling. I don't forget, not like that."

"Shh," she murmured, her own eyes closing as sleep crept to claim her in the gentle darkness. "We'll try in the morning. Zeus knows we'll have enough time before Eiko's awake."

She laughed softly, a sound echoed by his own low chuckle at their daughter's seeming inability to stir in the morning. "The Gods alone know where she gets it from," she continued almost in a whisper as the world around her began to fade into the gentle quiet of sleep.

He made as though to answer, but at that moment a sudden urgent pinging brought both of them awake in an instant.

Sighing in resignation, he stirred as though to reach for the watch-like bracelet communicator on the table by the lamp, only to smile as his wife's left its place without her needing to touch it, and dropped to her reaching hand.

"Show-off," he chided her with a smile.

"If that's that Daitokuji brat trying to tap the alliance net again, I'll certainly show off," she growled, easing quickly into a sitting position, and deactivating the communicator's tiny camera before accepting the call.

"Hal!"

Her face lost its thunderous look the instant his own appeared.

He looked unusually harried, and she glanced quickly to her husband in time to see him twist upright and catch up his own communicator in a blur of motion.

"Hmm, did I call at an inopportune time?" hal inquired tactfully, his expression a little chagrined as Kent activated his own communicator, and Diana touched the tiny stud that gave Hal a visual of her suddenly attentive face.

"No-no," she said with a smile. "I thought it might have been that Daitokuji girl trying to tap the net again."

Hal grimaced, nodding quickly before his expression tightened still more as he fixed anxious eyes on the two Magamis. "We've got a problem," he said simply. "About thirty-five minutes ago, approximately twenty to one your time, the Alliance GDSS detected some kind of dimensional ripple centred in Graviton; to be exact, almost on the Kotobuki doorstep. Just what's going on, I don't know. We can't detect any further anomalies, but the readings were like nothing we've ever seen. I've dumped the data to the Cave in case they don't see it, but I doubt they're going to come up with anything the Alliance AI has missed."

"Another attempt to retrieve Shiko?" Diana suggested. "Some independent faction outside Hipolipolita's influence? It's not the first time they've tried."

"It's possible, but unlikely, given their official status and the overt nature of their activities here," he answered. "Certainly there's been no covert communication with any of Hipolipolita's crew, so far as we can ascertain. If it is a Lepton faction, then they're being surprisingly cautious, given their past record. And in any case, why the subterfuge? After all, they have a perfect right to their future queen, and I doubt the palace council would consider the Daitokuji corporation or her wanting to stay here as a serious impediment should they become determined."

"Mm," Kent agreed. "Still, why take chances if they can manage a retrieval without Biko's possible interference, or Eiko's, come to that?

"It's academic in any case at the moment; we can't speculate without more information. Can you—"

"Coming over," hal interrupted.

Quickly, Diana slipped to the floor, moving to retrieve the modified note-book, and settle it on her lap, even as Kent slid to join her on the edge of the bed. It's larger screen soon showed a graphic of the ripple, together with a tabulated representation of the information the GDSS had gathered.

"You're right; it's like nothing I've ever seen," Kent agreed after a moment. "A portal or gate of some kind, but… Did anything enter, or exit for that matter?"

"It's impossible to say," hal answered. "The final burst whited everything out for a few seconds; we've no visual at all for that period, and we've no base for a reference."

"So it's up to us to take a look," Kent sighed. "I think you're right though; I doubt Lepton has anything to do with this. All right, we'll gather what we can, and call as soon as we've anything to report. Check the Daitokuji intranet for possible covert activity; we can't afford to take chances with them. Have you contacted any of the others?"

"Not yet," said Hal, his fingers already at work on the keyboard before him. "I thought it best to be cautious. Do you want me to come over?"

For a moment Kent hesitated. Then at a quick glance from Diana, he nodded.

"It might be best," he said. "You're probably best equipped to track any incursion, or to close the rift should it prove necessary. How long?"

"Give me ten minutes," he answered. "I'll transfer the watch, and be there as soon as I can. Where?"

"Here, directly into the study. We'll be waiting."

"Right," he nodded, and with that the two tiny screens went dark.

"What do you think?" Kent continued as his wife studied the note-book intently.

"I don't know what to think," she answered uneasily. "But I agree; it would pay to be careful. Hal was right; these readings don't make sense, and that in itself is unsettling. There was definitely a tear of some kind, yet the GDSS shows no build-up consistent with a quantum jump, in fact no energy signature at all until _after_ the ripple ceased to exist."

"Which seems to indicate either a passive jump into our universe, powered entirely from its origin, which is of course impossible, or—"

"Or we're seeing an effect rather than the cause, interpreted by our systems as a jump because we've no other point of reference," she ended. "In either case we should exercise extreme care."

With that, she set the note-book aside, and rising, she moved quickly to dress, while Kent remained for almost a minute, staring intently at the data as though he might penetrate its mystery by sheer will alone, before he moved at last to follow her example.

"What will we need do you think?" Diana inquired as she moved passed him to the door.

"Just…" he began. Then abruptly he broke off, turning to lay a hand suddenly on her arm, even as she was moving from the room.

"We're not alone," he said softly, hushing her before she could speak, and moving quickly into the passage ahead of her. "Eiko has company."

* * *

"What's going on!" Ine's voice was tight as she stood, the blankets still clutched fiercely to her as she watched Eiko uneasily from her place almost by the window.

"shh; shut up!" Eiko hissed urgently. "I'm trying to listen."

For a moment she was silent, then with a sudden gasp she sprang from her position by the door.

"Chikusho!" Was all she could manage before the door was pushed swiftly but smoothly aside, to reveal her father's deceptively unassuming profile. "Oh Kami-sama!" she ended in a murmur.

"Well," he commented mildly as he stepped into the room, taking in the situation at a glance. "not exactly the company I'd have expected. Perhaps Eiko you'd care to explain just why Konoe-san is wrapped in your blankets, and why there are several pools of water on carpet I obviously made a grave mistake in replacing less than two months ago?"

His tone was stern, but a smile played almost mischievously at the corners of his mouth, and Eiko thought she caught a faint, suppressed chuckle from her mother who had appeared almost at his shoulder.

"It's not what you think!" she began automatically, then seemed to realise what she was saying, and choked off, turning an interesting shade of scarlet. "No! I didn't mean that! I mean, we were… That is, she was just… I mean I…"

Eiko broke off, her face flaming and her eyes flashing furiously as she turned to glare balefully at Ine.

"This is all you're fault!" she flared dangerously. "Why can't you be like anyone else, and use the door?"

Abruptly she realised just how ridiculous that sounded given the fact that it was the middle of the night, and fell silent, staring stupidly at the floor as she turned to face her parents' expected rebuke at the state of her room, and her foolishness in not calling them immediately.

Astoundingly, it was Ine herself who came to her rescue.

"It wasn't her fault Magami-san," she said, wondering why she felt no joy at Eiko's discomfort, and further why she was defending her. "Shiko's gone missing, and I thought…"

Abruptly she too fell silent, realising that she could not possibly tell Eiko's parents just what had happened.

Eiko opened her mouth as though to say something more, then she caught the quick meaning glances both her parents had shot in her direction, and stopped short, realising suddenly that they knew far more about this than it appeared.

"Well, first thing's first," said Diana, taking quick command of the situation, and moving quickly into the room. "Konoe-san, you can't stay in those wet things. Plainly, you're still frozen, and it's still pouring with rain. Why don't you take a hot bath while I set them to wash and dry; it shouldn't take long."

Suddenly uncertain and self-conscious, Ine mumbled her thanks, her own face scarlet as Diana steered her quickly from the room, and hurried her towards the bathroom.

"Tousan?" Eiko inquired as soon as they were alone.

Kent sighed, and moved quickly to close the door, turning to play his eyes back and forth for a moment across the puddles, steam beginning to rise before he gave up on the pooling water, and turned again to Eiko.

"Hal signalled less than five minutes ago," he said simply. "The GDSS detected a rift of some kind, centred more or less on the Kotobuki home. Whatever it was, the readings were like nothing we've ever seen."

"Then…" Eiko paled, taking an involuntary step towards him as panic at last rose above the mingled anger and confusion that had thus-far held it at bay.

"Eiko?"

Her father's voice broke through her growing terror, and a moment later he had laid a reassuring arm gently about her shoulders, drawing her close as she began to tremble.

"Ine woke me," her voice sounded numb and flat to her own ears. "She told me that both Biko and Shiko are missing."

And while her father listened, Eiko related all that the other girl had told her.

"Do you…do you think…" she broke off, huddling unconsciously closer to him.

"There's no reason to think any harm has come to them," he answered gently. "I know it's small comfort Eiko, but if nothing else, Biko will see that Shiko comes to no harm if she can. I think all we can do now is begin our search at the scene, and see what we can find."

"And I can't come, can I."

It was a statement rather than a question.

She expected a gentle refusal, but to her astonishment her father smiled.

"It would look rather more suspicious were you to remain behind, don't you think?" He said, catching her suddenly to him, and hugging her with a ferocity that would have crushed a human skeleton, but only made Eiko wince and return the gesture.

It was something special between them, something she could share with no one but her parents, who were far more than human.

"I'm sorry about the mess," she said softly, when at last they stepped apart and she moved to tidy the bed as best she could, before hurrying to fetch some clothes. "I couldn't…I mean…"

A gentle hand on her arm silenced her.

"I don't think Hal will mind cleaning up a little water," he said, returning her quick smile as she turned, before releasing her, and stepping swiftly to the door.

"Try not to be long. Remember, you'll have to leave with Ine ahead of us."

His daughter laughed, a warm full laugh to match her sudden almost overwhelming sense of relief. With her parents' and uncle Hal's help, and that of the rest of the Alliance if it became necessary, she knew that she would have all the help she could wish.

"All right; and thanks, _really_," she said quickly, flashing him a last intense smile, before the door closed, and she moved swiftly to dress.

It was going to be a long and busy night.

* * *

"Damn it Mari; keep still! What's the matter with you?"

Asa shifted uncomfortably in the concealing shrubbery, turning to glare angrily at the much taller girl at her side, before resuming her watch on the Kotobuki home.

Why Ine had insisted on calling the other girl, Asa could not begin to guess. She was one of a kind in a fight or a sticky situation, but stealth was not exactly her strong suit, and unless Eiko decided to take them all apart… At that thought Asa shivered. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea after all.

"They're on their way."

At the hissed words, Asa nearly shrieked.

"Don't do that!" she flared, turning to glare at Ume as the other girl dropped down beside her. "How do you know?"

"What do you think this is! An ornament?"

Ume waved the phone at her as though she were demonstrating a much-laboured point to a very small child, before tucking it away and settling back to wait.

Asa did not see the point in starting another argument; there had been enough of those already in the past half-hour. They were all on edge, and she did not really blame the other girl for her ill-temper, given the circumstances.

"How long?"

The usually taciturn Mari's question brought her out of her own momentary introspection to glance quickly at Ume in her own inquiry.

"I'm not sure; a few minutes," she answered. "Apparently Eiko's parents heard them talking, and of course they wanted to know what on Earth one of us was doing there, and at that time of night. They were insisting on calling the police, but Eiko convinced them to wait."

"Probably so that she'd have time to see how many pieces she could turn us into before they got in her way," Asa muttered.

Mari glared, half rising to her feet.

"Forget it," Asa warned her, laying a hand on her arm, and trying to pull her back down. "We're not going to get into a fight with her if we can help it."

The other girl settled back sullenly, and a gloomy silence settled over the trio as they waited, while beyond their limited shelter the rain at last began to abate as the sky began to clear.

"At least we're not going to get soaked again by the look of it," Ume muttered, glancing up at the dissipating clouds as the last of the rain vanished, and stars began to appear once more. "Where are they!"

"There…oh Kami! I don't believe it!"

At Asa's sudden almost giggled exclamation, the others turned in time to see a red blur resolve itself into a racing Eiko, a terrified Ine pulled helplessly behind her in the same position Shiko usually occupied. Even as they stared, Eiko made a final bound, and pulled to a halt, Ine slumping panting and gasping against her.

"You are certifiably crazy!" They heard her gasp as she staggered drunkenly, held from falling only by Eiko's suddenly supporting hand. "Oh Kami! I think I'm gunna be sick!"

"Stop complaining! I got you here, didn't I?" Eiko's tone was short, yet with just a hint of underlying mirth utterly unexpected by the other three.

For a moment they hesitated, then at Ine's glance in their direction they moved from concealment, and hurried to join them.

"You don't wanna travel like that; believe me you don't!" she groaned in greeting, still swaying on her feet as Ume took Eiko's place in supporting her for a few moments, until the giddiness passed, and she stood on her own.

Eiko's expression had tightened upon seeing the others, and watching her, Ine felt a sudden unreasoning sense of loss, a fleeting wish that the momentary warmth and camaraderie she had felt for the other girl could have been something less transient. Then the other three were looking at her, and she sighed, knowing already that with Biko missing, it was up to her to take charge of the situation, at least so far as they were concerned.

"All right, let's start at the place at which what remained of the…thing hit the ground," she said. "Ume did you get everything?"

"Collected everything as soon as you called," she answered, drawing a small slim case from the pack she carried, and handing it to Ine before beginning to pass out torches from the same pack.

"What is it?" Eiko demanded, glancing at the thing Ine held as the others switched on the torches, keeping the beams as low as they could.

"Bio-scanner," Ine answered, gesturing to the torch still unlit in Eiko's hand. "Hopefully it'll give us some information on the thing that attacked Biko.

"Come on. And try to be quiet and keep the beams away from the windows. The last thing we want to do is have Shiko's foster-parents out here."

"They're going to know, soon enough," Eiko pointed out as she too switched on her torch.

"Better we tell them after we've gathered what data we can," Ine countered. "They'd only get in the way."

Unhappy but resigned, Eiko nodded, and moved to walk at the other girl's side, the others following close behind.

To Eiko's surprise, they seemed quite adept at keeping silent; even Mari made little sound as she moved from shadow to shadow as a rear-guard. Watching as Ine halted and activated the small device, Eiko felt the surreal nature of the situation take possession of her with unnerving intensity.

"Anything?"

Ume's low question almost made her jump.

"Give me a moment!" Ine hissed softly in answer.

For what seemed an eternity as they waited the scanner was silent as she swept it back and forth. Then suddenly a faint but insistent pinging pealed from the device, and Ine lifted it, touching a series of tiny keys until at last the little screen filled with text and symbols.

"Kami-sama!"

At her exclamation, four sets of anxious eyes fixed intently on her face. Of all of them, only she knew how to interpret the data.

"What!"

Eiko's voice was tight and fierce in the sudden silence.

"Whatever this thing was, it wasn't completely human," Ine said softly. "Damn it; keep the light steady! What DNA was left is already beginning to break down, which shouldn't happen; certainly nowhere near as quickly. But the scanner was able to get enough information to show the percentage of conformity, and there's too much error, probably enough to consider it a different species, although originally human, or very close. This thing was either some kind of mutant, or—"

"Or from a dimension other than our own, the most likely possibility given the circumstances."

At the sudden strange voice, all five whipped about, lights playing frantically for a moment before they settled on the intruder. A moment later the four of Biko's group stared in stunned stupefaction, Eiko just managing in time to suppress her relieved cry of "Uncle Hal!" and follow their example to keep up appearances.

"Kuso!" Was all Ine could think to gasp.

Casting a mildly disapproving look in her direction, Green Lantern stepped fully into the light cast by their torches, and gestured at the scanner Ine held limply before her. "May I?"

Numbly, she handed it to him, watching as he manifested a cable and connector which soon had the device linked to the little palm-top he carried.

"I assume this is sending continually to the Daitokuji mansion?" he inquired, his tone still mild.

"How…" Ine began, then sighed. "It sends directly to Biko's own system," she answered. "After the fiasco with Marguerita, she doesn't trust her father with any information she's gathering. Her link into the Daitokuji intranet is very tightly firewalled."

"Mm; very wise," he murmured, his attention now fixed on the palm-top's small screen. "That man is dangerously ambitious; something that will bring him to harm one of these days."

Then for many seconds he was silent, pausing in his analysis only to hand the scanner absently back to Ume at Ine's gesture before returning to the small machine.

It was some time before he at last tucked it away, and turned once more to the others.

"I assume none of you have encountered something like this before?" he inquired.

"No," Ine responded as the others shook their heads.

"Nor we," he told them. "Still, let's see at least whether there's a residual reading from the jump. There should be something obvious enough to track after so short a time."

"Just what we were about to do," said Ine, pride stealing into her voice as she gestured to Ume who had been staring at the cloaked figure with hearts in her eyes.

Recovering, Ume passed another device to her, while Green Lantern began his own scans.

"Impossible!"

His quiet exclamation brought their attention to him once more. "There's always an after-ripple left by a quantum jump," he continued quietly in explanation. "It's something that, so far as we know, can't be concealed. Yet there's no indication that a jump took place. You're absolutely certain this is _exactly_ where it happened?"

"Right here," Asa assured him.

"Hmm; all right, can you go over events precisely as they occurred? Perhaps we've missed something, although I can't imagine what."

Nodding, her own readings also negative, Ine passed the second scanner back to Ume, and while the others watched, she and Asa did their best to re-enact what had taken place earlier that night, Ine also keeping an increasingly uneasy eye on Eiko's ever tighter expression.

"You know," said the red-haired girl softly when at last she had fallen silent, "I'm going to take Biko apart piece by piece when I find her. You understand that, don't you?"

It was the unusually mild, almost conversational way in which she said it that sent a sudden deadly shiver rippling down Ine's spine as she and Asa moved once more to the others.

"So what do we do?" Eiko continued, her tone a good deal less mild as she turned to regard the cloaked form who stood, arms folded as though deep in thought.

For a long moment he made no answer. Then at last he sighed.

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure," he said. "After detecting the rift, I was picked to make the initial assessment, whoever was needed to follow at my signal; but…"

he broke off, shifting uneasily, and glancing about him as though for inspiration.

"There's no residue; no reading: nothing by which we can even begin to guess at what might have happened," he ended quietly as though to himself, a sudden helpless note in his tone that unnerved Eiko far more than his tension of a moment before. "Our only leads are the genetic samples Konoe-san gathered, and our own readings during the event.

"I could perhaps return to the moment of the attack, but it would be an extremely dangerous thing to do, without knowing more concerning the nature of the event itself. I'll only try that as a last resort.

"For the moment, we can only wait to see whether the Alliance AI can find something we've missed, and whether we can find a match in our database to the DNA of the enemy, although I think that hope at least is very unlikely; if there's no match by now, I doubt an additional search will find anything.

"In the meantime, you should try to get what rest you can. I'll keep you all informed as to any developments, and—"

"No." Ine's tone was quiet and final. "We're not going to be shunted conveniently out of the way, while some gaijin organisation waits for more to happen, and tells us only what they want us to hear."

"Ine!" Ume gasped.

"Shut up!" she flared. "If you want to sit back and do nothing, that's up to you. But I'm damned if I'm going to abandon Biko and Shiko, just like that."

To her astonishment, Eiko nodded in agreement, casting a quick, apologetic look in her adopted uncle's direction, missed by the others, but carrying a steel-willed determination that reminded him just whose daughter she was.

Returning her glance for a moment, he turned once more to Ine.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "Believe me, I had no intension of suggesting you're incapable of helping us, or investigating on your own. But you can't do anything more tonight."

"We can keep watch on the house in case something else appears," she said simply. "Obviously, you didn't get much from the Alliance GDSS; oh yes, we know about that," she said at the startled jerk of his head. "I bet the initial flare overloaded the detectors; probably you got no visual of the appearance at all."

"Touche," he acknowledged good-naturedly enough. "But my point still stands. There's no point in you exhausting yourselves here for nothing."

"I'll keep watch with her."

The words startled Eiko, the more so when she realised it was her own voice that had spoken them. "I'm not going to get back to sleep now in any case, so I might as well be here as at home."

For a moment Ine seemed too thunderstruck to do anything but stare stupidly at Eiko with her mouth gaping comically wide, while Asa, Ume and Mari turned blank uncomprehending looks on one another, as though certain they would wake up at any moment.

"Um…I…I…" Ine made several more attempts to force something intelligible from her mouth, before Green Lantern flashed her a quick, mild look, and turned to Eiko.

"I believe she's trying to say she'd be glad of the company," he said, a touch of mirth in his tone. "Do you want me to tell your parents you'll be staying here? I imagine they'll be worried."

Eiko nodded quickly. "I'm surprised they haven't come after me," she continued, taking the opportunity to try to find out why they had not followed as they said they would.

"I told them to wait," he said simply. "After all, there was nothing they could have done."

Eiko nodded again. They would be keeping covert watch nearby, she realised, ready to intervene should something happen that required their help.

Ine seemed to have recovered, and was giving instructions to the others. They would stay together at the mansion, and keep watch in turns, ready to scramble at a moments notice.

"I'll call immediately we've any more information," Green Lantern assured them as they prepared to depart. "I imagine Biko has a direct line by which I can contact you, rather than through the main line to the mansion? Her father will need to be told, but I would suggest we delay that for as long as we can."

The four girls of Biko's group nodded emphatically.

Quickly, Ume noted down a number, passing the slip of paper to him with a smile and a blush, before turning away and mumbling a good-night to him, then with somewhat more trepidation, to Eiko. It was obvious that she and the others were not entirely happy with leaving Ine alone and undefended with her, but since Ine herself seemed not to be overly concerned, there was little they could do.

"Remember; make sure one of you is on watch at all times," Ine reminded them as Ume slung the pack, and turned to lead the others towards the street and the sleek machine they had left there. "And don't forget to call every thirty minutes."

"We'll remember," Asa assured her. "Be careful; all right?"

"I'll be fine," Ine assured her with a grin. "'Night."

"'Night," They chorused. And a moment later, they had vanished into the darkness.

"I'd best be on my way too," said Green Lantern quietly. "I need to go over the data, not to mention prepare a briefing for the others. You girls be careful. And whatever you do, _don't_ tangle with anything without backup. Here."

With that, he passed a small rectangular device, linked to a length of slender chain, to each of them in turn. "You can't talk to us with these," he explained, "but they will send an all-emergency call that will have any one of us in the vicinity here as soon as possible. At the least, I will come. Don't hesitate to use them if things even so much as _look_ like getting out of hand. Clear?"

"Hai, Sensei," said Ine with more than a touch of mocking in her brisk tone, snapping a salute and giving the cloaked figure an unfriendly glare for a moment. Then abruptly her expression softened, and she nodded. "I'm sorry," she continued quietly. "But we're not children, Green Lantern-san. We're perfectly aware of the danger, and I certainly won't be foolish enough to let my pride get in the way should we need your help."

He nodded, reaching suddenly to lay a gentle hand on her arm.

"We're not your rivals in this, Konoe-san," he said gently. "I'm not trying to dictate to you; I just want to be certain I've done all I can to see that you come to no harm."

"I know; I'm sorry," she said again. "Just remember that we're neither naive nor stupid, right?"

"Right," he agreed, squeezing her arm lightly before turning to Eiko.

For a moment their eyes met in the near-darkness, a pleading intensity in his own that made her shiver with sudden unreasoning unease.

Please be careful, his look said more clearly than any words. Kent and Diana would never forgive me, and I'd never forgive myself if something were to happen to you.

Almost imperceptibly, Eiko nodded and smiled in return.

"We'll be fine," she said with a lightness of which she was suddenly unsure. "Now you'd better get going before my parents decide to come looking for me."

For another moment he hesitated. Then with a final intense look and a nod, he turned swiftly, and slid away, vanishing quickly into the icy darkness.

For some time after he had gone, Eiko and Ine stood unmoving, each wrapped in her own thoughts, while the last of the clouds vanished and the stars shone out, cold and white in the frigid blackness of the moonless night, until at last Ine stirred.

"It's freezing!" she said softly, as much to break the increasingly uncomfortable silence as for any other reason. "Let's get under at least some kind of shelter."

She turned to Eiko, seeming suddenly to be searching for the fleeting warmth she had seen in the taller girl's eyes in those few short minutes between the time she had returned from bathing, and their joining the others. But Eiko's face was the same closed, cold mask it had been since she had first caught sight of the others, and Ine felt again the sudden unreasoning loss tighten her throat with sudden emotion, and she could not understand why. Why should she care what Eiko thought? And yet as she watched her in the darkness, the old pain of loneliness and rejection writhed and waxed until her eyes stung, and she had to turn quickly away.

"You could have brought something warmer," Eiko's tone sounded harsh and cold to her in the sudden icy stillness. "You've already been soaked and half frozen once tonight. Why didn't you get one of the others to bring something; what's the matter with you?"

"Your mother offered to lend me something," Ine half-mumbled. "but…"

She broke off, the pain a sudden roar, cloying thing that bit off anything she might have been about to say.

"It wouldn't have killed you to accept her hospitality," said Eiko shortly. "Just because Biko's a vindictive bitch—"

The pain flared then, pain and hurt, and so many memories of so many cruel words from those who would not try to understand.

"She isn't…" Ine began angrily, but again she faltered.

She just did not want to start an argument about Biko in the middle of the night. And in any case, what was the point? The two rivals would not agree that it was raining unless they both got wet, and even then each would probably try to blame the other for the water.

Miserably, she glared at the ground before her feet.

"It wasn't that," she mumbled at last, turning towards Eiko as though with some last hope of understanding. "I just didn't think you'd want-me-to-borrow-anything-of-yours."

By the end of the sentence her voice had faltered to silence.

"What?" Eiko snapped in growing irritation, not catching the murmured words, or the sudden almost pleading look Ine cast towards her.

Ine fought the all-too-ready anger and pain for a moment. But it was simply too much, and not worth the effort.

"I said I just didn't think you'd want me to borrow anything of yours. Satisfied?" she flared in answer.

For several seconds, Eiko remained stock-still, several warring emotions playing suddenly across her face while Ine continued to stare into the blackness, the occasional quick jerk of her head the only indication as to her sudden savage tension.

"Damn it; This is a waste of time!"

The sudden low, savage snarl would have gone unheard by anyone without Eiko's gifts.

"What?" Eiko said again, her own quick temper flaring as her head came up, eyes flashing angrily. "Then why the Kami did you volunteer to stay here?"

With a sudden blur of motion, Ine whirled to face her, eyes blazing suddenly with rage and pain, and all that she could not say, her lips pulled back as she glared malevolently at the taller girl.

"Because I thought that we might actually be able to get along for two f***ing seconds, that's why!" she hissed. "Because I'm sick of all this, and thought I might actually be able to do something about it! It's a joke, Eiko; a sick, twisted f***ing joke! All this Kami-damned sh*t and fighting over Shiko, because my best friend's a vindictive, selfish bitch who can't help the way she is, and because you can't go for two f***ing seconds without getting into a fight with her!"

somehow she was screaming and crying, and tears were pouring from her eyes, and no matter what she tried she just could not seem to stop.

"Because like you, I knew something like this was going to happen, and wanted to stop it so many times I've lost count, but didn't because I knew how much it meant to her, and because no one had ever given a f***ing damn about me before Biko, and I didn't want to lose her; all right?"

she had to stop, a part of her kept screaming, and screaming at her. She was making so much noise, and people would hear; and the others… But the words just kept coming, and there was nothing she could do.

"You've never given a f***ing damn about how hurt she's been, have you! Do you know she cries herself to sleep almost every night, because she wants out of all this, but can't, because she has her pride, and won't back down! Do you know she takes so many f***ing amphetamines sometimes that I'm so scared she's going to go crazy, just to try to come up with something that will put an end to all this, that I just stay with her, and don't sleep, and never leave her because I'm afraid that if I do I'll come back, and find that something's happened, and she's f***ing killed herself! Do you think those f***ing mecha you seem to like smashing every day build themselves?

"Even now, you don't give a damn about anything but finding Shiko, do you? You'd leave Biko to rot before doing one f***ing thing to help her! Oh yeah, it's all her f***ing fault that this happened, isn't it?

"Well you know something? I've got f***ing news for you! It's as much your fault as hers, and I hope you f***ing remember it. If you'd actually turned your back on one f***ing fight for once, and just said you weren't going to play any more… But no; you just couldn't resist, could you? You just couldn't resist the chance to play her little games!

"And now my best friend's probably dead, and it's your f***ing fault! Do you hear me? It's your f***ing fault, Eiko, and I hope you have to live with that for the rest of your life, you heartless, cold-blooded bitch!"

And with that she lashed out, catching the stunned Eiko with a vicious crack to the cheek that would have had stars exploding in the vision of any ordinary girl, but that did not so much as shift Eiko's head. In the next moment she was gone, racing wildly into the darkness while Eiko stood aghast, too numb to do anything for several seconds, other than to stare stupidly at the place in which she had been standing only moments before.

"Oh Kami!" she whispered softly at last, wondering vaguely why her vision seemed to be blurring, until she felt a wetness on her cheek, and raised a hand as though in a trance towards the place Ine had struck.

For a moment she thought stupidly that perhaps the girl had somehow managed to draw blood. The slap seemed to have hurt so much more than it should have, given that it was only Ine who had hit her. Then she felt the stinging in her eyes, and she realised dazedly that she was crying, and she could not comprehend when she had begun, or why she did not seem able to stop.

Moving as though in a dream, Eiko tried unsuccessfully to dash away the tears, turning slowly this way and that, barely aware of the night around her until at last she calmed a little, and stood still once more, straining into the darkness as she tried to catch some sight or sound of the other girl. For several moments more she remained unmoving. Then at last she started forwards, switching off her torch as she moved into the light of the street in the direction Ine had taken.

* * *

She did not know how long she ran; it did not seem to matter.

Again and again, Ine cursed herself for her foolishness. How had she let herself lose control like that? And why on Earth had she believed that it could possibly do any good to reveal so much to her best friend's nemesis?

Even as she asked herself again and again, the answer was plain. Because Eiko had been a friend, if only for a few short minutes, and in some deep-seated, indefinable way, Ine had trusted her, if only for that little time: had felt suddenly so sure that she could make her understand: that in some small way, she could make a difference. And probably all along, Eiko had been laughing at her, like everyone always had before Biko, and like all the others she had not given a damn. And it hurt.

Fighting back the tears, Ine lurched to a halt, swaying helplessly for a moment before sinking slowly to the ground.

"Damn you!" she sobbed savagely, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Damn you to hell, Eiko! And damn me for being baka enough to think you'd care!"

Dashing the tears furiously away, she fought for several seconds unsuccessfully for composure, while the icy, bone-numbing chill of the still night set her to shivering violently once more, until at last a little calmer, Ine moved again to stand.

"Kami-sama it's cold!" she gasped as the sudden deathly chill seemed to settle palpably about her, while around her the stars suddenly paled and died, as though a fog were rolling in over the city.

Even as Ine stood suddenly stock-still, the last of the light vanished, and utter blackness closed around her.

"What!" she gasped softly, suddenly afraid. "What's going on?"

"I reasoned," Purred a low female voice suddenly out of the pitch blackness, "that this would be easier, were we to remain…let us say…undisturbed."

At the sudden words, Ine whirled wildly in the direction of the sound, her fingers working frantically as she adjusted the torch, holding the suddenly almost dazzling light before her as she strained abruptly-wide, starting eyes into the darkness. But the light died hopelessly in the sudden cloying blackness, and even as she strained to see, a sudden dread fear such as she had never imagined she could know, closed like a smothering cocoon about her, numbing thought and reason: a primal, paralysing horror that froze her, helpless and utterly unable to move, even as she tried in vain to draw breath to scream.

"So little time." The voice was now close and soft, with a terrible, hypnotic edge to the purring tone. And reeling, Ine felt the horror wax and surge as the thing of damnation moved at last to stand beside her. "But it will be enough. Little Shiko's was not an easy world to find. She's so pathetically happy and content, and her complement's barely a whisper. But there was just enough; and now…"

Then the laughter came, a low, nightmare purr that shivered her very soul, and drove her helpless and quaking to her knees.

"When you scream: when Eiko comes to find you, then I'll catch her unprepared. And then I'll have an anchor here, and this pretty little reality will be mine! Mine for the rest of time! Mine until the uttermost end of damnation."

And she laughed again, and Ine screamed within her suddenly-frozen mind: a silent, primal scream as her soul writhed upon the knife-edge of madness; blind and gibbering, her hands clawing as they strained uselessly to rise and tear away her ears, that she might never again hear such a sound.

"Such exquisite terror," Purred the hell-thing hungrily at last, her tone a gentle nightmare perversion beyond the horror of the blackest fiend of deepest hell, that set Ine's body to quivering while her mind writhed and reeled from her senses in primal revulsion. "and so far from immune. Oh my precious; if I had time to play for just a little while… But there'll be time and to spare later, and I have for ever.

"Tonight you play emissary for me: a message to her, enough to hint at the truth, before she comes again to my domain, and I take what is mine."

Quickly, the hell-thing flowed to settle herself beside her, leaning close, while Ine teetered upon the edge of splintering oblivion. Yet she could not flee the terror into madness; in some primal way, she understood that this was part of its purpose: that the horror was an absolute beyond even the comforting oblivion of infinite, everlasting insanity: that she could never escape, save should the thing beside her will that it be so.

"Yes," her tormenter purred softly, her voice almost a whisper as she stirred in the blackness. "Now you begin to understand. Turn; look at me. I'll let you see: a glimpse, just for a moment, so you'll remember, and never sleep again."

And as though unable to resist, Ine turned her head; and damnation came to claim her.

"Have you ever wondered" her mistress murmured, slender arms reaching for her, even as a last, splintered remnant of her will screamed and screamed in primal negation and silent, helpless denial, "for just how long a human body can burn, and for just how long that burning human body can scream?"

And with that, even as Ine made to surrender herself, and the seductive touch of horror beyond madness closed about her, she was released again: free for one last instant to understand the absolute of the ruin that had come to claim her soul, before the lips touched her cheek in the merest quiver, and she burst instantly into flame.

As though from some far off place, Ine heard her own agonised screams, watching in a kind of numb fascination as her body burned with an impossible, savage voracity. Then the thing of damnation moved from her, and suddenly she was plunging down, down into the absolute heart of the terror and the pain.

* * *

Kent was circling high, his attention entirely on his daughter, when the brilliant flare leapt skywards. Then Ine's first agonised screams reached him, and he turned, staring in stupid, incomprehensible shock at the blazing figure of the girl.

"Good _God_!" The words were torn from him, even as he turned, shooting like a missile towards her as his right hand flashed to the bracelet on his left, touching the tiny stud that would signal the others.

Then, even as he approached, he saw it, a blackness that even his eyes could not penetrate: a writhing, incomprehensible something that reached out, lifting the blazing form for an instant before it turned, hurling her away, her form splintering to ash and smoke, even as he came hurtling from above. Then for one moment the blackness was torn asunder, and the eyes of the man of steel pierced the veils; and he screamed.

Writhing, caught in a moment in a horror ruinous beyond all he could comprehend, Kent Magami reeled, tumbling drunkenly through the sky, dimly aware of Diana's sudden panicked call as the bond between them sent, but for a moment and dimly to her, what he had endured. As though from some great distance, he thought he heard his own voice cry in answer. Then abruptly another sound came: a wild, primal scream of such sudden rage and hate as no creature: man or woman, or the cruellest fiend of hell should ever know; and in its midst another sound, the faint, agonised cry of his daughter.

"Eiko!"

Then the ground was leaping to meet him with incomprehensible speed, and in the next instant, pain such as he had seldom known exploded around him, and the world dissolved, vanishing swiftly to tiny pin-points of light, before even they were gone, and utter blackness closed about him.

** ** **

Notes:

** ** **

This one was always a little different. The Project: A-ko universe envisioned here is in a sense a DC Commics world as it would have been, had it been created entirely in Japan. But although the principle heroes (and perhaps the various villains) exist, the similarity to a canonical DC-Comics world ends there. The emphasis is entirely different, probably most of the major American-centric stories never took place, and if they did, they don't matter. Certainly the various DC-comics cataclysms have never happened, and most likely the various alternative universes don't exist.

There was never a Justice League (the Alliance takes its place), if there is a Legion of Doom, it would be known by another name more suited to Japanese Manga or Anime, and although perhaps appearing here and there as important characters in their own world, no DC-comics staple will be central to the story, nor play any role beyond the A-koverse.

That said, the chapter still needed revision, although probably it's one of the closest to the original, having been written originally somewhat later, and with more care. I think it's worked.

** ** **

* * *


	7. Book I: Part I: Chapter VII

As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

Disclaimer:

Own only original stuff; not doing this for profit; suing would be pointless.

* * *

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Darkness Chronicles  
An anime-Manga Cross-over

** ** **

Book I:  
Part I: The Gathering  
Chapter VII:

** ** **

Madigan stood by the open door of the surveillance van, and swore vehemently in a fashion more inventive and more protracted than she had done in a very long time.

It had been going so well! The Knight Sabres had been kept occupied, precisely as the chairman had instructed, the six upgraded personal security buma playing their parts exactly as programmed.

Three were to be destroyed in the first attack, the others to lead the four vigilantes towards the area of the second rampage, immediately the last had fallen. They were slower than the hardsuits in their expanded forms, but they could remain active long enough to exhaust some of the hardsuits' much-needed energy. From the second rampage the one machine stripped of almost all unnecessary weight and weaponry was to remain an observer to the action until the end, when it would lead the Knight Sabres on a chase towards the third attack, its minimal armament and upgraded firmware giving it an excellent chance to remain out of range long enough to near the area without the need for backup. There again all but two of the buma were expendable. By then, the hardsuits would be dangerously low on power, and the final chase towards the DAs' hide-out, and the final rampage could begin. What would happen when they reached the luxury hotel in which the two renegade machines had gone to ground, the chairman had not yet told her. But Madigan had no doubt he had everything in hand.

It had seemed a perfect strategy, one so obvious that Madigan could not understand why it had not been tried before.

Then it had all fallen apart. Just how such a catastrophic failure had been possible, the frantic technicians in the van were still trying to ascertain. But whatever had happened had destroyed all but one of the buma, and this last was damaged it seemed beyond all hope of further action; just how badly, they were still trying to determine. The magnitude of the failure was made worse still by the fact that it was so utterly unexpected, and so impossible for which to plan.

"Madigan-sama?"

One of the men had stepped to the doorway, and was looking out at her as she stood staring moodily out towards the distant battle-zone where she guessed the ADP would already be drawing a tight cordon around the destroyed machines. Cursing herself yet again for not having the mobile HQ set up nearer the action, she whirled to face the technician, stepping aside and beckoning him irritably down.

"Well?" she snapped, her icy gaze holding his own for a moment before flicking savagely away. "I hope you have something to tell me."

She felt a moment's grim satisfaction at his quick nervous glance, then squashed the emotion with savage irritation. Fear was useful, but terrifying a subordinate for no good reason resulted only in their telling her what she wanted to hear. Forcing her face to its usual cool attention, she nodded for him to speak.

"The initial OMS report from the remaining assassin indicates a power-plant fluctuation," he began. "The buma lost power enough to initiate a full shut-down and disable its OMS link for almost fifty seconds. We'll know exactly how long, once we review the OMS node data. Approximately one minute after the initial failure, the reverse occurred; that is, there was a fluctuation far above base stability, lasting approximately ten seconds. It was this that destroyed the other machines, and crippled the last."

"This occurred in all the buma simultaneously?" Madigan demanded incredulously. "You're telling me there was an OMS fault?"

"No, Madigan-sama." The man's tone was suddenly very uneasy; "that's not what I'm telling you. What has just happened has no rational explanation. The plants are regulated internal to each machine, and although they can be OMS controlled to a degree: for example, reinitialised, or shut down in a situation where the buma becomes uncontrollable, it's impossible to alter the plant baseline. There would be no point in designing for that level of control. Besides, there was no OMS command sent to reset the plants, nor was there a loss of contact before the initial failure itself that would indicate some external influence."

"Would it be possible to emulate contact for the OMS node?" she demanded. "Could the Knight Sabres have caused this?"

"Not without packet interruption," he answered. "And even if they managed that, and I don't see how they could, there would be continuity errors in the data the OMS was receiving. There was no hint of trouble until the exact moment of the initial crash.

"In any case there's more: far more. We assumed at first that the last ADP helicopters to be downed had been shot down by the machines. Our own surveillance and satellite data shows now that this was not the case. They simply lost power, and crashed. The failure occurred at precisely the same moment as that of the buma. Also, there seems to have been a localised fluctuation in the city power-grid, in the battery stacks that were powering the ADP spotlights, and, if satellite data is accurate, in the Knight Sabres hardsuits."

Madigan stared at him for a moment in shocked silence.

"What you're telling me," she said carefully at last, "is that what has just happened should, by all accepted physics, be impossible."

"It happened, therefore it's possible. But—"

He was interrupted as Madigan's pager-phone demanded attention.

"Madigan," she said, snatching it from her pocket.

For a moment, she listened intently, slow shock and disbelief spreading over her suddenly ashen face.

"I understand," she said quietly at last. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Snapping the phone closed, she returned it to her jacket, and turned to face the suddenly frozen technician.

"Cancel the remaining assassins' programs regarding tonight's operation," she said simply. "Initialise them to stand by for priority server download. MegaTokyo is under attack."

* * *

The strategy would have been perfect in its inconceivable impossibility, had it been a strategy at all; Quincy would have had to grant at least that much to the unknown antagonists. It was however immediately obvious to him that whoever, or whatever they were, something had gone catastrophically amiss. Either they had attacked blind: an absurd proposition, or their appearance in the middle of a battle-scene was entirely outside their control: a ridiculously improbable stroke of appalling bad luck on their part. The last seemed tremendously more likely, given their initial bewilderment, and the way they had reacted to the intervention of the ADP.

There had been no warning, no indication at all as to what was about to happen. There had been a sudden total data-loss from the machines at the site of the first rampage, Quincy attributing it immediately to some new system of the pink hardsuit. Sylia could nearly always surprise him; it was one of the things that made her and her team such superb and fascinating antagonists.

Dismissing what he could not change, he had turned his attention to the other sites. For a little over a minute all had remained exactly as it should.

Then it had happened. In one instant the six Bu-55C-iii machines had been awaiting the signal to begin the third rampage. In the next, a swirling blackness had opened in the very air barely twenty feet from where they were concealed, and the creatures had begun to emerge. It had been unimaginable good fortune that the breach had occurred where it had, and that Quincy had himself been observing through the machines.

"Is this part of the plan?"

Madeleine Amura, speaking with Ligeia's mouth, had turned towards him, her eyes still wide with fear and confusion.

It had taken him minutes to silence the screams after her initial activation, then he had uttered another imprinted command phrase, and Madeleine had understood everything, and she had nearly screamed again.

"Of course it isn't; don't be absurd!" He had not looked at her, reaching instead for the phone at his side.

"But what—" she had tried.

"Silence," he had barked, not looking around.

In the next instant a gasp from her had made him glance back at the feed from the machines, just in time to see one of the grey-clad invaders raise a branch-like hand, and hurl a flurry of glowing leaf-like projectiles into the face of a suddenly leaping buma which had obviously interpreted the sudden appearance of the creatures as a priority threat. There was a sudden burst of white, then the feed from that machine had ended.

So it had begun, barely a minute before, and the loss of contact at the initial site had also been explained. A two-pronged assault were the imbecilic screams of Genom security. In which case, he had felt accommodating enough to point out to the fool who had disturbed him rather than doing the job for which he was employed, how very fortunate that the invaders had managed to choose their points of attack with such convenient incompetence. And how novel that they had decided to bring their children with them on their little campaign, this more than amply demonstrated to anybody other than a congenital halfwit by the fact that some of the creatures had sacrificed themselves to hold off the attacking buma whilst a few fled, hurrying a group of small, screaming creatures away with them as quickly as they could.

Quincy had been more than a little tempted to have the idiot terminated as a warning to in-born stupidity.

Smiling grimly, he set down the phone, and turned at last to Madeleine. She had been watching, white-faced and aghast at the feed coming from the remaining five machines, a strange yet undefinable sense of familiarity growing more potent with every second.

"What are they?" she demanded faintly at last.

"I assume that to be a rhetorical question, or did you really expect me to know?" he answered dryly.

Madeleine glanced towards him, her face tight as she tried vainly to find the source of her growing certainty that she knew the nature of the things she was seeing.

"Well, do you intend to stand there until morning?" he demanded. "You know what to do. Do it."

"Still!" she gasped.

"I don't recall agreeing to repeat myself," he said simply. "Do you imagine Fellini will wait, simply because my security division is staffed by congenital imbeciles?

"Go. And see that Fellini learns nothing of what is happening before his and Liana's escape. I imagine you can manage that. You are then to find Marina and Camilla without delay, and release the data Ligeia contains. After that, your course should be obvious; it _is_ why I chose you after all."

"Now I understand at last why so many people have tried to kill you," she cried suddenly, her voice trembling, and her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic rage.

"Then keep that thought in your mind if you wish," he said simply. "It should prove an excellent source of motivation. Now, if you've quite finished wasting time?"

Her expression tight, Madeleine whirled away from him, and leapt to the door.

"I've never hated anyone before," she cried desperately, her voice choked with sudden emotion; "not really. But I really, really hate you!

"And you'll pay. I don't know how, but your kind always do."

Then it was closing behind her, and she was gone, speeding wildly through the vast passages, tears nearly blinding her as the rage grew, and grew, and Quincy's cold, amused laughter seemed to follow cruelly in her wake.

How could he! How could he have done this to her: let her real self die and make a copy, just to stop that madman, when he could have done it months ago, before it had come to this!

She had known from the beginning and before she had learnt anything of his history, that Fellini was dangerous. The man had frightened her beyond words since the first day she had met him, only hours after she had passed the final security checks and been confirmed in her new position as part of the DA project. There had been something wild and unspeakably hungry and malevolent in his cold, dark eyes as he had appraised her at their first meeting, and Madeleine had been relieved beyond measure when unexpectedly she had been given the choice as to which team she wished to join.

It had not taken her long to hear the rumours: that the death of Zhuranovsky-hakase's daughter had not been an accident: that Fellini had infected her deliberately with the first-generation prototype as revenge for what he saw as his rival's undeserved position as executive director of the project, and the choosing of his alternative as pre-eminent.

She had not doubted them, even though she had never dared ask Zhuranovsky-hakase directly, and Domina-san had requested she speak of the matter as little as possible. Alexei had suffered quite enough.

And the chairman had known: had let Marina Alexeievna die rather than lose his chief project scientist, considering it both expedient, and a means by which Zhuranovsky would become obsessed and determined enough to do what otherwise might well have proved impossible. Oh how she hated him now, now that she knew who he was, and the appalling enormity of what he had done.

Yet there was no time. Whatever his plans had been for this night, all was now changed irrevocably by what was happening. And he was right. Despite his callous manipulation, and a calculated cruelty to achieve his ends she could not have believed anybody capable, he was right. Fellini would not wait: would not let anything deflect him from his goal. And if he succeeded: if he and Liana were not stopped, and the weapon was released…

Fighting down her tears, Madeleine reached for the link, not knowing or caring how she knew what to do, and gasped as she felt for the first time the autonomous response of her adversary, and her only hope.

* * *

Fellini had just slipped the last disk containing the data he intended to take with him in the small brief-case when the first shouts of alarm reached him. Then the door to his own private room was slammed open, and a moment later Liana was at his side, her face grim as she reached to snatch up the case.

"What—?" he began.

"We have been discovered," she said simply.

Her tone was frighteningly calm. "The chairman knows everything. Unless you intend to blast your way from the tower, we had best leave, and leave immediately."

For one stunned moment Fellini stared stupidly at her as though unable to speak. Then a cracking slap across his face brought him back to reality once more.

"Is everything packed?" he snapped, fighting down the urge to lash out at her in return.

"We've everything we need," she said quickly. "Come, while they're still arguing and shouting insults at one another."

"We'll never reach an exit," he continued, turning his head for a moment as the shouts from the direction of the research laboratories became more urgent.

"We won't if you stand here like an imbecile!" she answered angrily, her cold voice laced with contempt. "We can take the fire-escape. Are you coming?"

Moments later they were out of the room, and racing for the emergency shaft and its spiral stairway, Fellini already straining to keep up with Liana as she glided effortlessly along the passage ahead of him, a heavy case clutched fiercely in each hand.

"Can you—" he began.

"I've already unlocked it, and disabled the alarm" she snapped. "and a car is programmed and waiting. So stop wasting my time with idiotic questions, and move."

Seconds later he was in the dimly-lit stairwell, his pounding footfalls echoing in the shaft as he struggled desperately to match Liana's all but silent flight before him, the blood pounding in his ears as he fought desperately to control his sudden fear and exhilaration. Ahead of him, Liana glanced back for a moment, her own expression a barely contained snarl of frustration.

"We'll be trapped for certain if this is all the speed you can manage," she said in a low, savage hiss. "I'll go on ahead, and bring the car to the door."

"Mm," he grunted, unable to manage more against the desperate panting of his breath.

Flashing him a sudden vicious smile, Liana turned and sped away into the near darkness. A moment later she was gone, and Fellini was alone.

He struggled on, his pulse racing wildly as he pounded round and down the seemingly never-ending spirals, not daring to rest even for a moment at the landings. He cursed himself again for not taking such an eventuality into account: for trusting that Liana would be able to give him the warning they would need to escape without the need to run. If he survived this, he swore that he would begin to work on less drastic modifications for his own benefit.

Gasping, barely able to stay on his feet, Fellini stumbled down the final stairway, and lurched wildly for the fire-door. Staggering, clutching at it for support, he swung himself through, not bothering to slam it behind him, and nearly staggered right into the arms of the security buma that had obviously been waiting for him.

"You will return with me," It said in a flat emotionless voice.

It reached a clawed hand towards him, then shrieked in buma rage as its arm was cut from its body just below the shoulder. Whirling, snarling in frustrated fury, it opened its mouth wide to deal with the new threat. Then its head was bouncing on the asphalt, and Liana was blowing imaginary gunpowder from her slender fingers with a grin of malicious amusement.

"Shall we go?" she inquired.

* * *

"Sylia!" Linna's scream cut through the gaping shock of the others like a whip. "We have to do something! That thing is—"

She was cut off by the crack of a heavy-calibre pistol, and the plant-woman or whatever she was that had been pinning the terrified ADP officer a moment before staggered back, grey blood frothing suddenly on her mouth as she tried vainly to scream.

Snarling viciously, eyes glowing suddenly like coals, the other strangers moved forwards, shedding their glamour with a terrifying speed far beyond any buma, becoming in a moment hideous twisted parodies of human forms. Then suddenly the tall grey-cloaked figure of a man had appeared as though by magic, and leapt to stand before them.

"No!" The command cracked like thunder, and the creatures halted, turning as one towards him. "Fools!"

His gaze turned to the writhing figure, who had collapsed now to lie prone, her limbs twitching feebly as she tried vainly to stir. "Did we not warn you?"

He remained still for a moment, as though gauging whether she could be saved. But at last he shook his head, and turned to face the others once more.

"How many more must we lose before you understand? he demanded fiercely. "These humans intended no harm. Nor did we come here to fight.

"The others are not far away. Come! Now!"

And without another word he made as though to step forwards, and vanished before their disbelieving eyes, the thirty or so creatures doing likewise a scant moment later.

Alone, the plant-woman twitched vainly for a moment as though trying to follow. Then with a final gush of grey blood from her mouth her body went limp. For an instant it remained unmoving. Then as they gaped, it simply crumbled and dissipated before their staring eyes, until a moment later nothing but a fine dust remained.

* * *

Something was horribly wrong. Zeolite had known that the instant she had leapt into Uranite's portal, and felt a sickening lurch as though she were being twisted like weaver's cord. For one horrified moment she had been certain they were too late: that the collapse had reached the gate, and this was the end. Through her leaping terror, she had glimpsed the exit point in the near-dark Tokyo alley Uranite had selected. Then a new, vast horror crashed over her, and she was plunging headlong into a soaring, hungry blackness that she understood in an instant of nightmare was something terrible and inimical beyond all she could begin to comprehend, agony ripping through her like poisoned ice, coupled with sickness and giddiness, and a wrenching nausea that threatened to have her pass out at any second. Then she was staggering out into the full, dazzling brightness of a wide, well-lit street in a place she had never seen.

Trap! she thought numbly, too shaken and disoriented to understand anything other than that somehow the senshi must have known: must have diverted the exit, and that she might die in the next few seconds. Desperately she tried to draw breath to scream a warning. But it was too late. Someone slammed into her from behind: Cryolite she realised dazedly, catching the scent she always seemed to wear.

"Move it damn you!" The other woman snarled fiercely. "What in Serenity's palace are you doing? The others will be right behind us!"

Then her voice choked off, and she too stood gaping, until a moment later both she and Zeolite were sent sprawling as Apatite came somersaulting out.

"Oh! Metallia's black _soul_!" she moaned faintly, then gaped and froze in ridiculous imitation of her companions, and was herself knocked reeling on to the other two by a tumbling Halite.

His impetus rudely interrupted, Halite lurched, arms flailing wildly, fighting the nausea and the lingering horror as he tried vainly to stay on his feet. Then all three women tried simultaneously to untangle themselves, and he was sent sprawling by the sudden furious lunge. That probably saved his life as an instant later a sizzling particle-beam ripped through the space in which his head had been a scant moment before, and cut the first of the emerging Youma in two before she had time to scream. Then the others were staggering out, and a moment later everything was screaming, and explosions.

"Where in Beryl's name have you brought us, you Metallia-damned imbecile!" Apatite was shrieking at the very top of her lungs at a still-retching, and barely coherent Uranite, , shaking him like a rag-doll even as the crash and thunder of a dozen simultaneous attacks seemed to fill the world. He had been the last to emerge into the madness, and being by far the most sensitive to the intricacies of the gate he had created, he seemed even more horribly incapacitated than the rest by the terrible, horrifying plunge into this impossible situation. "And where in Serenity's Ginzuishou-cursed name is Tellurite, and the rest of our people?"

Uranite could only stare stupidly at her as he fought desperately not to be sick, until a screamed warning from Halite had Apatite tackle the still-dazed mage to the ground before two more Youma were cut to pieces by yet another sizzling blast.

"What _are_ these things?" Cryolite screamed, brilliant green energy spitting suddenly from her fingers as she tried in vain to catch one of the leaping buma in the head.

"Wrong exit-point!" Uranite gasped, still gagging. "Not my doing. Interference with the gate."

"Really!" Apatite responded, her tone dripping sarcasm and contempt. "Of course, we could never have worked that out ourselves."

She seemed to have decided that the only way to deal with what was happening was to turn on the first obvious candidate for blame.

"The collapse?" Cryolite demanded, shooting her sister a withering look. She hurled another barrage at their adversaries, then dived desperately aside as something shrieked passed almost parting her long emerald hair.

"No," he choked. "The gate was stable when I entered, and Tellurite was ahead of me. Nearly three-hundred made it out before we had to run! I don't—"

"Those cursed Senshi _filth_!" Apatite's snarl was venomous as she leapt to her feet once more. "They must have known; somehow they must have been aware, and planned this!

"Die, you Serenity-loving bastards!" she screamed malevolently at the attacking buma, her rage with Uranite forgotten as she threw both arms wide.

A blinding flash-blast of searing blue energy leapt forwards to smash into one of the blue machines. The buma was slammed end over end, but to Apatite's utter disbelief it twisted suddenly, flipping with a lithe, fluid grace to its feet once more, and retaliated with a searing flash that nearly took her head off as Halite tackled her from its path just in time.

"Keep down, you idiot!" he shouted at her, his own hands flying forwards.

The concussive blast of air smashed the machine down with enough force to break bone like kindling, but again it leapt up seemingly unhurt.

"You'll never destroy them like that."

At the new shout, both spun savagely.

Tellurite, his grey uniform dusted with what seemed to be ash, and sporting a vicious livid gash along one cheek bared his teeth in salute at their quick relieved glances, and turned towards a C-55-iii that had just cut a fire-throwing Youma in half as though she were no more than a momentary inconvenience, and was moving to do the same to a huge reptilian-human whose poisoned crystal shards were doing no more than scratch the paint-work of his adversary.

"QUAKE!" Tellurite shouted, hurling both hands down.

A seething blackness struck the ground before his feet. Dimly the others could sense it as it travelled beneath the earth, until suddenly it erupted upwards directly beneath the buma. A moment later a shattering explosion turned the machine and the reptile-Youma into a fireball.

"Not exactly what we wanted," Zeolite felt it necessary to point out as she avoided losing her left arm by a hair's breadth, and retaliated with an attack of her own that seemed to have as little effect as most of the rest. "What happened?"

"I certainly didn't expect that," Tellurite shouted over the explosions and the snarls and screams of Youma. "Plainly these things are not magical in origin. Yet I can't see how the humans' technology could have created them. There would have been reports, and they'd have been used against Beryl's agents. Wherever we are, we're not in Tokyo. Something has gone very wrong."

"Uranite believes the exit-point was tampered with," Halite answered above yet another scream of pain, then had to dive aside as yet another four Youma were incinerated. "But I agree; this makes no sense!"

"We can't sustain these losses!" Cryolite screamed, glancing desperately to where her sister, and Zeolite stood now back to back. "If we don't do something, we might as well have left them all to die!

"FLARE!"

Green fire exploded from her mouth and hands while twin beams of emerald-green energy lanced from her eyes into the head of another of the buma.

For a moment nothing happened, then with a cataclysmic blast that vaporised several more Youma the machine erupted into a brilliant pillar of flame. The force of the explosion sent all six hurtling backwards to smash through the plate-glass of a jewellery boutique.

"Oh perfect, just _perfect_," Zeolite groaned dazedly as she shook the stars from her head, and glared at the emerald-haired fighter with uncharacteristic venom. "Thank you very much!"

"You could have done better?" The other woman challenged, wincing as she plucked glass from her neck. "I don't recall choosing to have it explode almost in my face!"

"I doubt I could have done worse," Zeolite responded acerbically.

An instant later what was left of the window exploded as two machines came leaping into the boutique.

Bounding to her feet, a long, jagged spear of crystal materialising in her hand, Zeolite turned towards them, black energy erupting to engulf the spear as she hurled it at the buma. Then a flash from the mouth-laser of one struck the projectile. Detonating prematurely, the tiny shards nevertheless penetrated the machines in a thousand places, but seemed to do little more than to enrage them further, if that were possible.

Cryolite made as though to say something suitably cutting, then turned as Uranite staggered to his feet, seeming at last to have shaken free of the nausea and stupefaction that had kept him unable to help since he had emerged into the fray.

"It won't work, cousin," he said grimly, glancing to where Zeolite had paused for a moment to heal a vicious slash in Apatite's left arm with a brief touch of her hand. "These things have no aura: no soul: nothing to stun or control. Metaphysical attacks are useless.

"BURN!"

Searing violet heat erupted from his suddenly thrusting hands. In the next instant a devastating detonation smashed the already battered six through several display cases, the counter, and register, and through another display-window to slam, dazed and bloodied into the street.

"Oh _brilliant_!" Apatite moaned, barely aware of the faint, agonised screams of the Youma as a blazing tornado of plasma expanded from the point at which the buma's reactor had exploded, engulfing the shop, the machines, and many of their adversaries. "Why don't you just kill us all and get it over, you halfwit!"

Barely conscious, Uranite could do nothing but shake his bleeding head in dazed confusion, until at last he managed the concentration needed to heal himself. Stumbling to his feet, he moved to do the same for the others rather than wait for them to recover. Zeolite, the only true healer in the group but less able than he to protect herself with a shield was just staggering to her feet.

"What…" Halite demanded, too stunned for the moment to be enraged.

"I…it seems the golems power comes from an element akin to my elemental magic," Uranite answered grimly, "but far more unstable and prone to fission. I've seen it only once before, in an alchemist's workshop, but it was too dangerous and deadly to be useful. And it doesn't care to be disrupted; it doesn't care for it at all.

"I'm sorry; that attack is too dangerous to use again."

"Nice of you to discover that _after_ the fact," Cryolite commented drily as she yanked her younger sister unceremoniously to her feet. "Wakey wakey, little sister; you're missing the festivities."

Apatite contented herself with a killing glare at Uranite for answer.

From beyond the gutted boutique, the screaming had ceased, and pulling themselves together, the six moved back through the devastation, and emerged just in time to see several dozen Youma struggling to their feet, glowing with a lurid dark energy as they struggled to heal themselves of various hideous burns.

"Stopped fire, Lady," One panted, turning unsteady eyes to Cryolite. "but fire hurt; changed body; die later without Zeolite-Sama's help."

Zeolite stared about her.

"The golems?" she demanded.

"All destroyed in the explosion it would seem," Tellurite observed as he stared about at the solidified spray of metal that was all that remained of the buma. "It seems Uranite saved our hides after all, although I'd prefer not to repeat the experience.

"but what in Metallia's name have you done to our people, I wonder?" he continued, turning to glare at the mage.

"The blast would have released enough wide-spectrum non-magical energy to damage living tissue," he explained. "They'll need Zeolite's healing skills before that damage becomes permanent."

Zeolite nodded in understanding. Then with a murmur, she flung her arms wide, and a moment later an impenetrable darkness enveloped both the Youma, and herself and her five companions.

"To be safe," she said simply, relenting a few seconds later. "That should be enough. But now, what are we to—"

"DOWN!" screamed Halite.

They were only just in time. Several of the Youma however were not so fortunate as a dozen more C-55s, and several of the huge Bu-12Bs came hurtling from above, beams, missiles, and heavy-calibre bullets already screaming as they plunged into the fray.

"It would seem," Tellurite shouted grimly as he slammed another attack into the ground, "that the night's festivities have only just begun. We _have_ to get them out of here!"

* * *

"What in the Devil's name possessed you to use something like this!"

Fellini's snarling tone was barely controlled as he turned for a moment from the window to glare malevolently at the girl beside him.

The car she had taken was one of the executive pool, perfect for chauffeur-driven comfort, but little-suited for negotiating the worse-than-usual Megatokyo snarl that was preventing them from making decent headway.

"Well, of course, if you'd preferred we were tracked and vaporised within minutes of leaving the tower, you could have saved me a good deal of trouble," she hissed venomously in return, not bothering to turn as she wove her way with seemingly effortless precision between wildly swerving cars, and shouting drivers. "We've more than enough time to reach the estate."

"And if they _do_ follow us?" he demanded. "What chance have we in this. Not to mention that they can probably disable it with an override; I wouldn't put that past them. What in the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Keep complaining _father_," she began in a warning purr, "and I swear I'll slit your throat where you sit, and pitch the remains into the street." By the time she had finished, the purr had become a low, venomous snarl. "If you're really such an imbecile as to think me fool enough not to have anticipated that possibility, or the time we would need—"

"If we don't reach the estate before the time of awakening, Liana, the programming could break down. You know as well as I do that the conversion is still far from stable. If we're not there when—"

"SHUT…UP!" The tone was a savage, animal sound of fury that sent a sudden thrill of terror knifing through Fellini, despite his certainty that he had ensured she could never rebel, or harm him. "I am perfectly aware, you microcephalic, subsentient imbecile, of the importance, and implications of this night. Don't presume to insult my intelligence."

"What!" Fellini's voice was a sudden answering snarl of pathological rage. "What did you just say to me?"

Liana's sense of her own superiority he could allow within certain limits; he had encouraged it, after all. But that she should _dare_ speak to him like that: that she should presume he would tolerate such an insult from something created by his nemesis.

"Listen to me, you superior, self-smug bitch," he hissed, "and listen well! Never, _ever_ Dare speak to me in that tone again! _I_ command, and you will do as you are told, or so help me I'll make you more sorry than you can begin to—"

The crack to the cheek nearly sent him through the window. Stunned, barely conscious, he turned dazed, staring eyes towards her, unable to comprehend what had happened. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his cheek-bone felt as though it might well be broken.

"I think you misunderstand," she began conversationally in an almost gentle purr, her voice seeming suddenly to be reaching him through a star-spangled haze from some great distance. "You appear to be labouring under the mistaken delusion that I was cowed or fool enough to leave those little limitations of yours in place. Further, you seem to have misinterpreted my command of a moment ago as a request. I don't recall giving you permission to continue your asinine whining, nor in fact to make any sound at all until I tell you otherwise.

"Which means, you congenital apostate, that you have two choices. Either you can remain very silent and very still, and so be alive and breathing when we reach the estate, or you can continue this imbecilic diatribe of cretinous complaining and—

"What the KAMI!"

Liana's sudden shocked shriek was enough to bring the world leaping back into focus for the scientist.

Jerking himself upright, fighting desperately to ignore the knifing pain in his face, and pull his chaotic mind to order, he stared in the direction of her suddenly upraised hand, and gasped. Before them, cars were swerving in every direction, the sounds of screaming tyres and shattering glass seeming suddenly to fill the night.

"What—" he demanded, forgetting everything else for a moment. "What in Christ's name!—"

"Rampage," Liana hissed.

"Quincy!" Fellini snarled, suddenly tightly focussed and utterly engulfed once more in the seething sea of hate that would allow for no other consideration. "That bastard, self-smug _ape_! One step ahead yet again: so sure of himself as always! Damn him! Damn him to hell! By _Christ_, he'll pay for this. I'll have that sneering, superior bastard screaming and begging for death before—"

"Later," she snapped, cutting through his tirade. "We've no time. We need to know exactly how the situation stands."

Pulling from the highway on to the pavement with no thought for the chaos it would cause, she unfastened her harness, and flung her door wide.

A moment later both were out and standing by the car, staring towards the growing confusion.

For a moment nothing could be seen. Then in the next, a brilliant green flash lit the night, and a moment later a shattering crack like thunder seemed to split the air, cries and screams only adding to the chaos.

"Come on!" Liana cried, diving back into the car, and seizing the cases. "We'll never get through like this. We'll have to make our way around, and steal another car."

Nodding, her earlier behaviour forgotten already in his searing fury, Fellini caught up the last case, and followed her as she began along the street at a pace she knew he could match. As they ran, the sounds of battle drew nearer, and soon they began to encounter people fleeing in the opposite direction.

"Get out! Get the f***ing hell out'a here!" someone shouted, actually slowing to try to spin Liana around.

"What is it?" she demanded, twisting effortlessly from his lunging hand. "What's happening?"

"Some new buma that's decided to have a night out," he answered. "Are you coming, or not?"

Liana ignored him, and began forwards once more.

"Alright! Get yourselves blown to the kami!" he screamed after them, and went on running.

Panting, struggling now to keep up with Liana's easy, fluid speed, Fellini rounded yet another corner, and nearly slammed into her suddenly frozen form.

"What the hell—!" he snapped.

Then his voice choked off, and he stood gaping at the sight before him.

At the further end of the street, some twenty or so of the new Bu-55C-iiis and more than a dozen of the huge Bu-12Bs were in the midst of a pitched battle with things that he found difficult to describe. If they were buma, he had never seen anything like them. Vaguely human in shape, and indeed the majority sporting almost completely human heads, they were nevertheless grotesquely distorted, horrible, sometimes nightmare parodies that could almost have been comical, were they not intent it seemed on tearing the machines and everything else around them apart.

"What in the _hell_ is going on?" Fellini gasped, then gaped even wider as a fleet of Genom helicopters appeared, speeding overhead to drop still more of the enhanced combat machines into the fray.

From the ranks of the strange creatures, the tall grey-cloaked figure of a woman moved suddenly forwards. Unlike the rest, She seemed to him entirely human, save for the fact that her long, flowing hair was a brilliant emerald-green.

"FLARE!" Came a sudden scream from her as she flung back her head, and swept both arms to the sky.

In the next moment Fellini's eyes grew still wider as a blast of emerald light leapt from her upturned face, and an even larger ball shot from her hands towards the machines. Not quick enough to avoid it, two of the Bu-12Bs were caught full-on by the blast, and flashed into fire, hurtling down to smash through the roof of a building, and turn its interior into a blazing inferno. An instant later the woman leapt back and disappeared, as some half-dozen of the parodies were caught by a devastating retaliatory blast from several of the airborne buma, and vanished in flame.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Whispered Fellini, staring stupidly at the scene before him. "Jesus H. _Christ_! Christ! Oh Christ! Oh _Christ_!"

"Have you finished?" Liana's voice dripped with derisive amusement as she turned for a moment to glance at him. "Quite a challenge, and most fitting for the night of my little apotheosis, wouldn't you say?"

"But what—" he gasped.

"It would appear at first glance that we have stumbled into an attempt at extra-terrestrial invasion," she said simply. "At least that's what the OMS reported soon after the attack began, although personally I suspect there's a great deal more to it than that.

"Still, fascinating, if rather poorly orchestrated."

"Extra-terrestrial!" Fellini said faintly. Then suddenly the full import of the rest of her statement struck home. "Do you mean to say that you _knew_ about this!" he shouted suddenly, his voice approaching a scream.

"Before I informed you of the chairman's supposed discovering of our, or perhaps I should say _your_ evening's entertainment," she said, her smile as she turned fully to face him more vicious and laced suddenly with more cruelty and contempt than Fellini could have imagined could be possible.

A sudden dawning horror and sick feeling of nausea took possession of him as his gaze locked on her face.

"Before!" he managed at last.

"Oh Fellini, you really are _pathetic_!" Her tone dripped such derision that Fellini began to feel his hold on sanity fail. How _dare_ she! How _dare_ this vicious, self-smug _thing_ speak to him like that! "Why else do you imagine there was such a commotion tonight? Didn't it occur to you even to listen to what your erstwhile colleagues were shouting? The reports were all over the tower at least a minute before I came to find you, and they made such a perfect pretext; I couldn't have planned it better.

"As for your plans for this evening: Quincy has known of your pitiful little attempt at treachery ever since the day I was given to you, perhaps before," she was laughing now, her tone venomously apologetic, and her eyes spitting condescension and contempt as she watched the growing insanity blaze in his face. "Why else do you imagine I was sent to you in the first place, and why else do you imagine he allowed you to proceed without interference? _Surely_, you didn't believe it was due to any genius for subterfuge on your part?

"Having chosen, publicly, Zhuranovsky's more palatable alternative, he wished nevertheless to see just how far your own hatred and lunatic obsession could push you to perfect the converting nano-technology. A too-edged weapon is so much more useful, not to mention profitable, and the financial gain to Genom should they be able to produce something cheap and efficient that could make use of any desired organic base whilst requiring minimal production cost…

"I believe he's been suitably impressed. Your achievements regarding Sadako and the others have far exceeded all expectations, something even I can't deny.

"I'll admit, Zhuranovsky's precipitous escape took me somewhat by surprise, even with Marina's help. Certainly I should have expected the chairman to have anticipated it; but then even _he_ is only human, and so subject to mistakes and oversights impossible for one of my kind. Zhuranovsky really did manage something _far_ beyond his wildest hopes.

"But as for you _father_," and now her laughter, and contempt were a screaming, sneering thing that seemed to lash the very air about him: "your use to me has reached an end. You would have been permitted to survive as a play-thing perhaps, yet one more slave to your 'Dark Mistress', at least until the charade was abandoned. But the events of this night have precipitated a change in the chairman's priorities, and in mine."

"Your's!" The question came in a low ragged gasp of barely-contained madness.

"Oh you are _pitifully_ naive," she purred, moving a hand to stroke his unruly hair in the familiar gesture, and smiling as the madness blazed still higher. "Did you honestly expect that I wouldn't take advantage of your oh-so-dangerous tampering? If you _will_ integrate some of the most psychotic of my sub-persona emulations into my base routines, you can hardly complain at the consequences. Besides, Zhuranovsky included certain additions of which even the chairman was not aware.

"If your tampering did nothing else, it permitted me the freedom needed to search my own systems for the key to release me from Genom's control. The chairman had to allow it you see; even you are not so much of a fool as to accept my own assurances of obedience without performing at least a cursory examination of the base firmware, incompetent though you are. The freedom he allowed me was minimal, but it proved enough, barely. It took me weeks of rationalisation to reach the conclusion that I need no longer serve the company which had helped to create me, but once I'd done so the rest was simplicity itself.

"I must thank you for your invaluable assistance. Because of your foresight, I have nearly one-hundred human slaves who await only my summons to do my bidding, for ever: slaves, what is more, into whom I can transfer, thanks to your achievement, those portions of my personality and combat routines that will ensure they are worth ten, perhaps a hundred times the count of any standard combat buma in battle. Integrated into my consciousness, they will be invincible.

"It's a pity you couldn't have joined them; I'd have liked to keep you alive for a little longer, in case you proved of some unexpected value, and your suffering alone would have been satisfaction enough. But sacrifices, as they say, must be made.

"Farewell Fellini. I won't say it's been a pleasure, but you know, I do believe I'll actually miss you, if for no other reason than the entertainment, and the reminder of what your despicable kind can become without reasonable restraint. Be assured however that I've learnt very well of your example, and that in the future I and my sisters shall rule, humanity shall be kept very firmly within limits we define, and that are far better suited to your natural corruption, and base, in-born perfidy. But then, what else do you deserve?

"Farewell."

And with that, she raised her hand.

Fellini had stood shaking, a slow, pathological hate and rising madness overwhelming what little remained of his sense and reason, as he understood at last and too late the enormity of his miscalculation, and how she had played and manipulated him with such flawless precision.

Now, as Liana glided towards him with a fluid grace, determined to savour the moment of death for as long as time would allow for this filthy human refuse who had tormented and tried to control her, Fellini began to shake. Then slowly a wild, animal snarl of primal, all-consuming rage built within him, rising and growing, until with an incoherent scream he hurled himself at the Bu-33DA.

With a casual, imperious gesture, not even troubling to shift her position, Liana snatched the screaming madman from the air as though he weighed nothing, and splintered his arms from wrist to shoulder with myriad, fluid presses of her slender fingers. His mouth frothing, blood streaming suddenly from his eyes and nose as his heart screamed with the surge of adrenalin, his body convulsed with a speed and savagery far beyond anything sanity could have matched. Almost losing her grip for a moment, Liana shifted him, and crushed his legs in the same way.

Oblivious to pain, screaming still higher, Fellini convulsed again, his shattered arms and hands trying vainly to reach to claw at her throat and eyes, while his mouth opened and closed in an animal attempt to bite.

For a moment Liana held him away from her, watching while he writhed in impotent hate, a frigid smile of contempt and boundless, sadistic amusement playing across her beautiful face. Then with a single flick she dashed him to the ground with force enough to smash his spine to splinters. Lifting one foot she drove it into his chest, her smile widening still more as she felt bones shatter, and burst beneath her. There was a liquid gurgling as blood filled his lungs, then slowly his breathing grew shallow, and the now-feeble twitching faltered.

Liana stood, watching silently until at last the gurgling ceased, and Fellini's body lay shattered, and still before her.

"Do rest in piece, Otousama," she said, her lip curling in a final derisive sneer of boundless loathing as her hand flashed down.

A searing beam lanced into Fellini's head, cutting it in two, and incinerating the brain within in a momentary flare of fire. Satisfied at last that nothing could be recovered, Liana turned away from the broken corpse, and stood still, watching impassively for several seconds as the battle raged before her.

"Well! I do believe I have time to intervene, if just for a little while," she observed to no one at last. "What fun!"

With a single movement she shredded the dress she was wearing, revealing a black, form-fitting jump-suit beneath identical to that Marina had worn.

Thus unencumbered she bunched herself. Then with a sudden leap and roar of thrusters she hurled herself skywards, climbing quickly until at nearly five-hundred feet above the field of battle she levelled out, and hovered, staring down on the scene below her as she reached towards the estate and the altered minds of the cult her erstwhile benefactor had thought to make his own.

"Come," she commanded, a wild exultation surging as she felt for the first time their unfettered response to Zhuranovsky's enhanced OMS, a response that hitherto only true DAs could give. "I, the Dark Mistress, summon you. Come to me, and take your rightful place as the elite of the earth."

And with a wild, pealing shriek of deadly laughter, Liana came hurtling from above, not waiting for her own, and plunged screaming into battle.

* * *

"We _have_ to get out!" Zeolite's scream was as desperate as the others had ever heard her. "They're being cut to ribbons! We owe them more than this!"

Halite made to answer, then jerked as yet four more Youma howled and screamed as a barrage of sizzling energy tore through their ineffectual shields, and turned them instantly to fire. Spinning wildly, another Youma let fly with a whirling disc-like projectile that ripped the arm from a buma, then screamed in agony as the snarling machine cut her nearly in two from shoulder to hip.

"If you can think of a way to retreat, tell us." Tellurite's face was wild and strained as he hurled yet another attack into the ground before him.

He was nearly spent: all of them were; yet there was no escape. These perversions of life were tireless, and could neither be drained of energy, nor terrified into helpless fear. The things had them trapped on the ground, and above them a devastating barrage from both golems and the humans in their savagely destructive flying machines prevented any hope of their being carried to safety by what remained of those who could fly.

There was no chance to withdraw, nor time to consider how they had found themselves in such an appalling situation. Uranite's only theory was that somehow they had been displaced in time: that due to some unforeseen effect of the collapse, the gate had hurled them through the years. If indeed that was the case, then the senshi were blameless. Not that that was any comfort. But whatever had happened, it was plain that they were doomed if they could not escape. No matter what the cost, they had to find a way out before their people were killed to the last, and themselves with them.

Beside him, Cryolite cut loose with another blast that turned two of the diving nightmares to blazing belts of fire.

Tellurite turned to flash her a fierce grin of triumph. Then a sudden Bean-Sidhe scream from above made them look up. For one stunned moment they saw the human-like female figure as it came hurtling towards them, the stunningly beautiful face lit suddenly by the lurid glow of the fires as it swept down. Then, the scream rising still higher, the thing plunged into the ranks of Youma, and ruin and horror came.

Whatever it was, it made the enemies they had faced thus far pale to absurdity in comparison. Not even deigning to protect itself, it moved in a dazing blur of fluid, nightmare grace, tearing Youma apart like leaves, fire and searing flashes of death spitting and leaping seemingly in every direction as it executed its demon dance of death amongst the last denizens of the Dark Kingdom.

Stunned, Tellurite watched as it caught up a huge armoured Youma as though he were weightless, and nearly vaporised him with a single violet pulse from the weapon in its mouth. Grinning, bathed in Youma blood, it flipped effortlessly from Uranite's blast, and punched a searing, screaming bolt straight through the place in which his head had been only a fractional moment before. Screaming, half blinded, his hair and uniform ablaze from the backwash of plasma, Uranite staggered desperately away, and was nearly cut in two as the thing swept into the air, ripping a devastating slash of death through the screaming, terrified warriors who had rushed nevertheless to protect him.

"Serenity's Beryl-damned _kingdom_!" Tellurite heard Halite gasp numbly almost at his side. "What _is_ that thing?"

An instant later Liana came screaming round in a second pass, Youma blossoming into flame like midsummer fireworks as she passed, and turned, and came round again, screaming in exultant battle-rage and triumph at the destruction she was wreaking.

Panicked now, Youma seemed to be bolting in all directions. Then Tellurite's thunderous voice surged above the din.

"To us!" he roared, the others following his example as he reached with his power to wrench their fleeing, panic-stricken people to order. "Do not be fools! To us, while still there is time!"

They were being cut down like grass as they fled by the golems, while the new arrival swept amongst them, running desperate, screaming Youma to exhaustion before cutting them to pieces with a sadistic flare that made it appallingly apparent to the six that she was possessed of awareness and a natural cruelty far beyond the rest.

Liana passed one last time as the Youma were drawn by main force and a desperation greater even than any terror she might inspire, back to their rulers and their only hope of survival. Hurtling from above, she dropped towards the six, and locking on to the tall, black-haired figure who had called, sent a last, devastating particle-blast straight at his upturned face.

Tellurite had but one fractional instant to throw up his hands in a desperate shield, before the blast slammed into it. It was very nearly too little. Straining, his teeth bared in a desperate rictus of agony, Tellurite held the terrifying energy at bay, until at last the golem-woman relented, and surged into the sky.

For a moment she hovered, glaring balefully down at him with eyes like death, and hate beyond oblivion.

"When I return," she cried, her voice a promise, "I shall be an Elite. Then you shall die."

Then with a feral grin and a wild peal of malicious laughter that seemed to fill the heavens, she soared skywards, and was gone.

Still panting, barely able to keep his feet, Tellurite glanced to the others. The Youma had drawn close about them, and were tensing for what they knew to be their last hope. Uranite did not care where the exit would be; he knew only that this was their final chance: their last hope to salvage something from this night of horror.

"How long?" Zeolite gasped as he began to concentrate.

"A moment," he answered.

Then the black swirling vortex of a portal was before them, and Uranite was urging them frantically to enter.

Tellurite moved to obey. Then suddenly he drew back with a shudder of alarm. In the same instant Uranite cried out in agony, and stumbled to his knees.

"What—" Zeolite began.

Then the nausea struck her, and she too staggered, doubling over, retching and gasping as she fought wildly to keep herself from fainting.

"Dark energy, yet tainted, wrong!" Uranite moaned, clutching at his head as he tried to force his suddenly glazed eyes to focus. "Something…something is appallingly amiss! Somebody, or something has opened another gate."

* * *

Something was horribly wrong. Zeolyte had known that the instant she had leapt into Torbernite's portal, and felt a sickening lurch as though she were being twisted like weaver's cord. For one horified moment she had been certain they were too late: that the collapse had reached the gate, and this was the end. Through her leaping terror, she had glimpsed the exit point in the near-dark Tokyo alley Torbernite had selected. Then a new, vast horror crashed over her, and she was plunging headlong into a soaring, hungry blackness that she understood in an instant of nightmare was something terrible and inimical beyond all she could begin to comprehend, agony ripping through her like poisoned ice, coupled with sickness and giddiness, and a wrenching nausea that threatened to have her pass out at any second. Then she was staggering out into the harsh, stark light and the cracked and broken paving of a narrow, deserted street in a place she had never seen.

Trap! she thought numbly, too shaken and disoriented to understand anything other than that somehow the Scouts must have known: must have diverted the exit, and that she might die in the next few seconds. Desperately she tried to draw breath to scream a warning. But it was too late. Someone slammed into her from behind: Cryolyte she realised dazedly, catching the scent she always seemed to wear.

"Move it damn you!" The other woman snarled fiercely. "What in Serenity's palace are you doing? The others will be right behind us!"

Then her voice choked off, and she too stood gaping, until a moment later both she and Zeolyte were sent sprawling as Apatyte came somersaulting out.

"Oh! The Negaforce's black _soul_!" she moaned faintly, then gaped and froze in ridiculous imitation of her companions, and was herself knocked reeling on to the other two by a tumbling Halyte.

His impetus rudely interrupted, Halyte lurched, arms flailing wildly, fighting the nausea and the lingering horror as he tried vainly to stay on his feet. Then all three women tried simultaneously to untangle themselves, and he was sent sprawling by the sudden furious lunge. A moment later he yelped, and wrenched his hand from beneath a foot as Telluryte staggered out as though pushed from behind. For a moment he too stood staring, then an agonised scream from the portal made him turn in time to see Torbernite pitch from it to lie face down, and moaning.

"Wrong exit-point!" he gasped, gagging and retching as he tried vainly to struggle to his knees.

"We could _never_ have guessed that for ourselves," Apatyte remarked icily.

"Lost coherence," Torbernite continued in little more than a choking whisper. "Interference with the gate."

"The collapse?" Cryolyte demanded.

"No," he choked. "The gate was stable."

"That cursed Scout filth!" snarled Apatyte suddenly, reaching to pull Torbernite to his feet. Then abruptly she whirled, staring at the place where the portal had been. "The rest! Our people! You halfwit! Torbernite! Where in the name of the Negaforce are our Beryl-damned people!"

She began to shake the mage savagely back and forth like some child's toy that had particularly displeased its master, while at her words the others turned, staring in sudden stunned silence up and down the deserted street as though they expected somehow that their people were concealed impossibly in the shadows.

"I…" he tried, fighting desperately against the sickness that was far from being helped by the blue-haired woman's treatment.

In the same moment Telluryte reached out, trying to sense those who had escaped ahead of them, certain they could not be far away. Perceiving something, he reached to tell their people where they were, and to summon them.

Then abruptly his hands flew to his head, and he cried out, a shield flaring suddenly around him. In the next instant the others lurched in concert, their own shields leaping into being as something akin to, yet unlike the energy they sought, smote them like poisoned lightning.

"Probe!" Panted Torbernite dazedly, not yet close to recovered. "Nega-energy, yet somehow wrong: tainted: not like our own. Something, or someone else is very close by."

* * *

"Uranite! Do something! Don't just kneel there looking like an imbecile!" Apatite's voice was a shriek of desperate, panicked urgency. "We can't hold the shield for ever. Do something!"

"What in Metallia's name do you think I'm _trying_ to do!" he snarled savagely in return. "I can't lock on to an exit for the gate. The other energy signatures are too like our own; it's impossible to reach through them. Damn it! If we could have used their location; but they deflected the probe. Zeolite!"

"I know," she hissed through savagely-gritted teeth. "Give me a moment."

"We don't _have_ a moment," Ground out Tellurite as he strained with the rest to hold back the now-constant barrage from both humans, and machines.

If the shield collapsed they would be incinerated in the merest fraction of a second. Already the Youma were panting, and gasping, there too-precious mana nearly exhausted, barely able to sustain their part of the link.

"I have a location I think," Zeolite gasped. "Uranite!"

"I've got it," he gritted a moment later, seeing it for a fractional instant through her power. "Give me a moment longer."

He reached desperately, focusing the exit-point on the place Zeolite had chosen. "Alright. Let's get out of here."

He tensed yet again, keeping a fractional strand in reserve should the unknown others try to open another portal, or reach them through their own. What he could not have prepared for was what happened the moment the portal was opened. For one fractional instant the entrance was clear. Then in the next the gate erupted in a blaze of tainted dark energy, and the Youma that were not Youma exploded from its mouth.

Uranite reeled, his senses screaming in primal negation at the wrongness of the creatures that were pouring out. Staggering, fighting with everything he had to keep the desperately-needed portal from disintegrating into fractures that could shred them like discarded parchment, he stood, unable to do more than watch in stunned stupefaction as the last of the not-Youma leapt clear, and immediately exploded into battle. To most, sensitive enough only to perceive that the six who felt and looked like the lords and ladies of the Negaverse who were their only hope for survival, nothing mattered but to plunge screaming into the fray with no thought for themselves. It was only the strongest who halted, bewildered by the sense that something was terribly amiss. Then three were cut to pieces by a barrage of searing energy and flying metal from what must be the enemy, and their uncertainty vanished in fear, and rage, and a last, wild desperation to survive.

"By Metallia! What else can happen this night!" Cryolite gasped, staring in utter bewilderment as the devastating assault on their shield relented as the humans, and golems turned to deal with the new threat.

Then a piercing scream from Zeolite made her whirl.

"Uranite! The portal!"

It was too late. Exhausted at last beyond endurance, hammered by the tainting influence of the energy that was too unlike their own, Uranite had crumpled to lie senseless, and unmoving. Released of his control, the gate flared wildly. Then with a screaming roar heard only by the six and the suddenly petrified Youma and Negaverse escapees it erupted in a blossoming vortex of darkness. For one horrified moment the still-conscious five were frozen, staring in stupefied terror at the widening maw as it gaped hungrily before them. Then, they and the still-senseless Uranite were snatched up like leaves, and pulled, screaming, into the abyss. For one more instant the gate remained coherent. Then with a last cataclysmic detonation it fractured, and exploded, rippling out from its point of creation to spit rifts to nowhere throughout the city.

For one stunned moment the Youma and their counterparts remained staring at the place where the six had been. Then with screams of despair and hopeless defiance, they hurled themselves as one at the only enemy they could see; and madness came once more.

* * *

The average MegaTokyo citizen wanted to die. Hiroshi Davis could think of no more rational explanation for what had just happened as he struggled uselessly with what remained of the K-12 into which he had sealed himself barely five minutes before. He had always known that the things were as good as useless against the homicidal machines with which Genom graced the city on a regular basis, but he had hoped that they might do a little better against leaf-throwing alien invaders. He was wrong. Of course he was wrong; why the hell should he have expected anything else from this great big f***ing joke of a life he'd been given?

Laughing with almost hysterical amusement, he coaxed the ruined mech on to its back, and finally managed the leverage he needed to open it up.

"Go to f***ing hell!" he spat viciously as he pulled himself out, and kicked the pile of scrap-metal in the head.

The sounds of battle were moving closer to him again, but he spared the downed K-12 one more kick before turning to limp towards the idiot who had just got herself cut nearly in two, knowing already that he could do nothing for her. He was not hurt himself, other than a lump the size of a golf-ball on his forehead, and a sliver of metal in his shin. He was lucky that the plant-thing had not managed to slice more than the mech with whatever the hell she, or it, or whatever it was had thrown at him.

Reaching the still, limp form of the teenage girl whose night of excitement had just come to a horrible, but far from unexpected end, he took one look, and shook a fist in the dead girl's face. She was about his sister's age he saw, at least the age she had been when the Bu-12B had blown her apart.

"Serves you bloody-well right!" he snarled in sudden white-hot fury. "You just wouldn't be told, would you? Stupid, stupid bitch just couldn't resist taking a look huh? Well now you've had your look, I hope you're happy."

Whirling away, his breath coming in sudden ragged gasps, Hiroshi turned once more to the downed mech. Ignoring the steadily approaching shouts and screams, he halted to glare malevolently down at its remains. "And _f***_ you too, you f***ing piece of sh*t!" he hissed. "I hope they cut what's left to tin-foil and stuff it down a God-damn buma's throat! That's all you're f***ing good for!"

With one final snarl he lashed out again, kicking and pounding the K-12 while sudden tears all but blinded him.

"Bastard! Bastard! _Bastard_!" he screamed again and again unheeding into the night. "Couldn't even blow a piece of alien sh*t apart before it killed someone! _Bastard_!"

Then whirling away once more he dashed the tears away with a grimy hand, and reached for the heavy pistol at his hip. His K-12 might be down but he was going to make those filthy alien bastards pay before they killed him.

"Davis!" The sudden shout made him spin once more, the pistol already ready in his hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

The sergeant's face was streaked with blood, and his eyes were wild and savage as he pounded up to the younger man.

"Having a f***ing night out; what does it look like?" hiroshi snarled savagely in return.

"Where are your—"

"Dead; all five of them," he hissed back, even more vehemently. "Didn't you know? It's part of our f***ing job description to get ourselves blown to f***ing perdition!"

"Don't talk to me like that, you arrogant, smart-a*se bastard," the other man swore suddenly. Then in a far more gentle tone: "What happened?"

"Evans and Hoffmann were cut to pieces by some kind of blade-flame things that disappeared after doing it," he answered simply. "Inoe lost it then, and charged in in his K-11. One of them threw something, and he, the K-11, and three of the aliens went up in the fireball. Andersen and—"

But whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a sudden shattering explosion.

"How much ammo have you left in that thing?" The other screamed above the din.

"Enough," hiroshi answered fiercely.

"Then let's stop wasting time, and make those bastards pay for—"

Another crash blotted out the end of the sentence but Hiroshi was already turning, and a moment later both were tearing along the street towards the ensuing battle.

Reaching its end they rounded a corner, and were nearly cut down as another red-tinged black bolt spat from the suddenly roiling sky.

"What the—" The other man began, then screamed, and dropped lifeless almost at Hiroshi's feet.

An instant later a second, and alien scream shrilled from above, and a huge armoured shape came slamming into the remains of the sergeant, one of the new C-55-iii combat machines fastened leach-like to its back. Hiroshi allowed himself a moment's half-crazed satisfaction as he watched the buma punch a metal fist straight through the thing's head. Then the machine spun, leapt, and drilled a blast from its mouth-laser straight through the chest of yet another descending creature.

For a moment Hiroshi actually thought in his half-wild state of pounding the buma on the back. Then the wild scream of tyres made him turn, and in the next moment Leon McNichol, and Daley Wong had leapt from a cruiser, and were diving towards him.

"Backup's on the way at last," Leon shouted above the din. "No one seems to have realised that these bastards could fly so far, or so fast. How are things?"

"In hell as usual Sir," hiroshi answered, grinning maniacally as he saw three more of the enhanced combat buma sweep overhead, and cut several more of the alien filth to bits before shooting to the summit of a communications tower to cut down the two snipers before they had a chance to escape. "I never thought I'd be glad to see those Genom bastards, but hey, beggars can't be choosers; unless of course this's all some sick game of their's; but I suppose that's too much to hope for?"

"Afraid so," said Leon simply. "There've been appearances at several points, and some of the creatures seem as hell-bent on running as anything else. The attacks appear to be random, and without any kind of coordination. We think something happened to their leaders. Apparently they disappeared through some kind of black hole like the one they appeared from, and these things keep screaming revenge, and that the Senshi, or the Scouts will pay, whatever they are. Whatever the hell's going on, it seems that they don't…

"Davis, what's the matter with you?"

Hiroshi was just staring stupidly at Leon.

"Senshi!" he managed at last. "You're joking! You _have_ to be f***ing joking!"

Abruptly he threw back his head, and began to laugh, a wild, crazed sound, as though the universe had just revealed the best joke of his life, and he alone understood.

"What the _hell_—" Leon began.

"Down!"

Daley's scream had them diving behind the cruiser a split-second before the bolt hit the road, chunks of pavement exploding in all directions.

"Sh*t, that's more out of our budget," Leon hissed as the windscreen and headlights exploded in a spray of broken glass.

A moment later the human-dragon-thing screamed, and smashed into the crater it had blasted, an already dissipating ruin where its head had been. Above them the buma dropped down to hammer it with another blast, then shot forwards into the thick of battle.

"I think we should move," hiroshi panted, still barely in control of himself it seemed.

Fresh screaming of tyres, and the sudden roaring thrum of helicopters spoke of new arrivals. Then in the midst of the sudden din, a familiar: "Knight Sabres…Sanjo!" seemed to fill the night.

"At last!" Leon exclaimed, leaping to his feet despite the danger.

His sentiments were echoed a moment later as a sudden rising cheer erupted from the pressed ranks of the ADP, and by Hiroshi's sudden crazed: "Tsuki ni kawatte oshioki yo!" as he too leapt to his feet, and began waving his arms madly in the air before him, slow hysterical mania growing in his face.

"Knight Sabres!" Was shouted back, and forth. "Now these bastards are gunna find out what real trouble is."

Hiroshi simply continued to laugh. Then lifting the pistol he began to fire.

* * *

Priss could not believe she was doing this. The turn of events had been so sudden, so impossible. They had barely left the scene of the initial appearance when the first reports of the battle near the Tinsel-City bank had reached them in the van.

Then the message had come from the tower. Whether Quincy had known that Sylia would have the ability to monitor Genom's intermediate executive security, or whether he had guessed, the crux of the message was clear, and succinct. No action would be taken against the Knight Sabres during this emergency, nor would they be designated targets by any Genom combat machine. Furthermore, any assistance they were willing to offer would be accepted in a spirit of amnesty on the part of Genom corporation, and the city's authorities until the emergency was at an end.

Immediately following the encoded transcript had come a stream of sensory and satellite data concerning each appearance, and tactical information regarding the current situation at the site of each engagement.

From that point there had been no further contact, but no buma had taken the slightest notice of the four hardsuits when they had appeared at the first, then the second scene of chaos. Those had each been brief encounters, the majority of the enemy having already been mopped up by the combat machines before their arrival. This time however things were different. There seemed to be scores of the nightmare parodies, and all of them it seemed were able to fly. Also the buma seemed to be few, and concentrating more on keeping the creatures from using the roofs of the buildings as effective cover for sniping, pinning them down while the ADP dealt with them as best they could.

Priss flipped from the path of a spiralling, green-flaring whip that seemed to be attached to the arm of the female human-insect cross-breed, and returned fire with the rail-gun, the heavy projectile punching through the head of the thing before she could move, or scream. Priss had no time to stare as the body crumbled, and vanished. She was already turning towards another of the nightmares as it plunged towards her from above. Rocketing to meet it, she drove a fist into its armoured head, and heard a satisfying crack as its neck snapped like a twig, and it dropped lifeless towards the ground, already beginning to dissolve before it slammed into the pavement. Then in the next instant something slammed into her from behind, and she was turning end over end in a wild dive. Trying desperately to shake the sudden stars from her head, Priss fought the spin, and had just managed to right herself when a second bolt sent her reeling to crash through the skylight of an office building.

Through a haze of exploding glass, and shattering plaster, Priss smashed down across a desk, splintering a terminal to fragments, and turning the fine mahogany to scrap as she slammed across the wide expanse of plush carpet. A filing cabinet at last stopped her headlong plunge, its contents erupting in all directions as she came to rest at last, one shoulder wedged in the shattered remains of its door.

"That's gunna hurt later," she groaned, pulling herself free, and surveying the damage her entrance had caused.

Papers had joined broken glass, plaster, the terminal's internals, mahogany, and other undefinable flotsam in a ruinous cascade across the floor.

"Someone's not gunna be happy," she observed dryly, then gasped and leapt aside only just in time as a flash-pulse of flame turned what remained of the desk into a blazing pillar of fire.

"Right; now you've got me angry," Priss snarled.

Ignoring the further damage she would cause, she shot straight up, and through the ceiling, plaster and roof-tiles exploding in her wake as she burst skywards, and punched a shot through the chest of the thing that had been waiting for her.

It had one stunned moment to stare stupidly at her before it dropped into the hole she had made, and disappeared.

"I don't think you'll be coming out again," she said, shooting into the air, and diving towards the street.

She had almost reached ground when a sudden warning shout shrilled through the comms.

"Priss, Sylia, Nene! Something very weird's going on here!"

Redirecting her dive, Priss hurtled towards the place her suit indicated Linna to be. Then a sudden similar scream from Nene made her freeze, uncertain of what to do.

"HERE too Sylia! Can't detect anything but it's like a swirling black something. They're falling everywhere, everyone but the buma. Can't—! So tired suddenly—! Must be gas! Can't—!"

Nene's voice faltered into silence. Then Priss saw it, a swirling vortex of darkness that seemed to be swelling, and surging from the suddenly gathered ranks of the creatures. Staring aghast, she saw a K-12 stumble, and halt in mid-charge, its cannon suddenly falling to hang listlessly before it. Then the broiling blackness was leaping at her, and Priss shot into the air only just in time.

Staring down in horror, she watched in disbelief as the last of the men and women were overwhelmed, and fell suddenly silent. Then a squad of Bu-12Bs were hurtling at the gathered creatures, a devastating barrage hammering at the aliens as they stood packed tight together. Priss continued to stare as the rounds and blasts slammed into them but appeared to do no harm. For a moment she watched uncomprehending. Then straining, she made out a faint, barely perceptible shimmer in the air around, and above them. Even as the swirling vortex grew, and deepened, dark tendrils seeming now to flow to converge at the place where they were gathered, so the shimmering barrier seemed to grow, and solidify. For a moment the barrage continued, then several of the things detached themselves and, bathed in the lurid darkness, moved out towards the ADP. Ignoring the hammering assault of the buma, they approached several prone forms, and reaching down, touched lightly at each forehead. Almost immediately the men and women stirred, and rose, their faces blank, and their eyes vacant as they turned towards the machines. Priss watched gaping as one woman raised the small pistol she was carrying, and fired a heavy-calibre round into the head of a C-55. The buma began to turn, then abruptly it pivoted, and punched a blast near point-blank into the face of one of the strangers. Screaming, his shield unable to cope, the creature collapsed, and dissipated, and the woman, and a man beside her dropped once more to the ground.

Priss remained frozen for a moment, then a sudden movement further off caught her attention. Turning she saw one of the creatures approaching a frozen green-suited figure.

"Oh sh*t, no!" she gasped softly.

Whipping around, she shot forwards on furiously-screaming jets, and dived headlong into the blackness, hammering the thing with a storm of fire until she was satisfied at last that it was down. Then, already giddy, and nauseous from entering whatever it was, she shot skywards again, and was nearly caught in the visor by a sudden flash from her right.

Turning, she gaped in stupefied fascination as the K-12 levelled its cannon at her in a wobbly aim, as though its operator had forgotten how to use it. Then it fired again, and she was far more intent on staying alive than wondering about the state of its occupant.

Spinning away, she jerked about, then shrieked, twisting desperately aside as a shot from another of the mechs tore through the place she had been an instant before.

"Sh*t! Oy, go and shoot something else damn you!" Priss screamed, more in fury than anything else. "Don't you idiots even know how to stay unconscious?"

She was not so concerned for herself. The fire was unlikely to be able to do any real damage at this range, and if necessary she could keep them shooting until they ran out of ammunition. If the ADP resource problem ran true to form, it was unlikely to take long. It was the possibility that they would hurt someone else that worried her, that, and the fact that one of those things might manage to reach one of the other hardsuits in the confusion. Where were the others anyway? Linna was the only one she could see.

Ducking another vicious barrage, Priss flipped aside, dived, and smashed at full tilt into the suddenly leaping form of one of the aliens. While her impetus shattered her like splintering wood, Priss was sent hurtling out of control to smash head-first through the roof of an ADP cruiser.

Dazed, fighting desperately against the sudden waves of ice and sickness that had closed about her the moment she had plunged into the vortex, Priss hurled herself upwards once more, heedless of the jarring pain as her suit slammed its way out by main force. Barely aware, trying vainly to pull her failing consciousness to order, Priss twisted desperately into a position where her thrusters could carry her skywards. Then suddenly a scream shrilled in her comms.

"Priss! Behind you!"

Sylia's voice had barely registered when Priss was caught from behind in a vicious vice-like grip.

For one dazed moment she hung helpless, her head half turned towards the apparition as it dragged her down and into the numbing ice of oblivion. Then in the next something blurred in her vision, and the thing was no more than a dissipating spray in the air before her.

"Did not I tell you to look for us when you least expected it, and when you most needed help?" Came a sudden warm female voice close to her helmet.

Then another gentler grip was about her, and the ground was falling rapidly away as she was carried up, and into the light once more.

"Marina?" she gasped, her heart pounding wildly as she fought desperately to claw her way to consciousness.

"Shh, give yourself a moment," This time the words came through the suit's suite. "It will take a minute or two for the effects of the energy drain to fade."

"Energy drain?" Priss gasped uncomprehending. "I thought it was gas or—"

"Shh," Marina insisted gently once more. "and stop struggling. Can't you bring yourself to trust me even a little?"

A moment later Priss felt the DA touch down, and then she was set on her feet, Marina steadying her while the world came back into focus.

Staring confusedly about her, Priss found herself atop one of the tallest of the office complexes, far above the growing, roiling blackness below.

For a moment Marina was her only companion. Then a hiss and thunk announced Sylia's arrival. Priss began to turn bleary eyes towards her, then stared as another figure dropped from above to touch down at Marina's side.

As tall as Marina herself, her long hair was dark, and her eyes as she turned to study Priss intently for a moment were a magnetic blue-green rather than the captivating blue of Marina's own.

"Camilla?" Priss managed, her voice still infuriatingly trembling.

The buma curtsied deeply, and flashed her a quick, intense smile.

Startled, Priss started to turn fully to her, then a sudden movement from below made her jerk about once more.

"Those things are trying for Linna again" she exclaimed, her voice shrilling as she fought down the last of the confusion, and prepared to leap once more into the fray. "and I still can't see Nene! I—"

"Stay." Marina's tone was suddenly fiercely intense as she tightened her hold for a moment about Priss's waist, although whether to restrain or reassure her, Priss could not be certain. "I'll bring them, and deal with the enemy.

"Guard them, Imouto," she continued, turning for a moment to Camilla. "Vaporise anything that dares so much as look in their direction; we can't afford to take chances. I won't be long."

"Be careful, Oneechan," said Camilla softly, reaching to touch Marina's hand. "They still may not be what they seem."

Marina flashed her a fierce smile as warm and deadly as any look Priss had ever seen. Then without a word she turned and flashed like a missile towards Linna's green hardsuit. In the next instant so it seemed to Priss's staring eyes she was airborne again, Linna's unmoving form held fiercely to her as she soared once more towards them.

"Where's—?" Priss began.

But Marina was already gone, screaming away from them almost before Camilla had caught and steadied Linna's suit.

"Is she…?" Priss demanded.

This time it was Sylia who answered, her own voice tight.

"According to her suit's systems she's unhurt," she said. "But she isn't responding.

"Mackie?"

"I'm on my way," he answered, even as a sudden flash and explosion from below caught their attention.

Priss turned, watching in stunned amazement as a huge ball of undulating darkness leapt to a point some fifty yards to her right. For a moment she could not see what the things were shooting at. Then Marina appeared above the vortex, Nene's pink hardsuit cradled to her as she raced again for the roof.

"Pathetic!" she cried exultantly as she touched down once more. Her blue eyes seemed to glow savagely with an inner fire, and her face wore a wild, ecstatic grin of blood-lust and hungry battle-rage as terrifying as any combat machine as she turned again to Camilla.

"Shall we, Imouto?" she ended.

"Are you sure, Oneechan?" Camilla inquired with a touch of trepidation.

"I'm sure," cried Marina fiercely. "Besides," she added in a sudden quieter tone, "we can't afford to allow them to influence anybody else, and the conventional combat machines can't penetrate their shield."

"But what—?" Sylia began.

"Watch," said Marina simply. "Watch, and learn."

In the next instant she and Camilla tensed, and hurled themselves skywards. A fractional moment later blazing trails erupted behind them as they twisted, turned, and plunged down, sudden exultant battle-screams seeming to fill the night, as they hurtled straight towards the gathered creatures.

Just what happened next Priss could never afterwards describe with any certainty. In one instant the two machines were plunging into the blackness. In the next it was collapsing in upon itself as though it had never been, and the four-score or more nightmares were nothing but a vanishing flare of brilliant, boiling flame.

Gaping, too shocked to speak, Priss watched as the DAs streaked back towards them, the wild grins of blood-lust vanishing as quickly as they had appeared, as they touched down once more. Marina opened her mouth to speak. Then a sudden groan from Linna silenced her.

"Oh my head!" Linna moaned softly. "What happened?"

A moment later Nene also was beginning to stir, and staring down, Priss saw that the ADP were slowly picking themselves up, staring about them in confusion as the buma, already receiving new instructions now that this attack had been dealt with, leapt skywards and sped into the night, to rendezvous with the transports that would take them to another scene of chaos.

"This is crazy!" she exclaimed softly. "Sylia, what the hell did those things do down there?"

"I'm as much at a loss as you, Priss," she answered simply, reaching to steady Linna as she began to try to move. "Keep still for a few moments," she said gently to her. "We can't afford to open your helmet here, but Mackie's on his way. Are you alright?"

"No," Linna gasped. "I've got a splitting headache, and I've never felt so tired.

"What did those things do? Some kind of gas? The suit didn't warn me, but if it was something we haven't had to deal with before—"

"There was no gas, or other physical narcotic," said Marina simply through the comms.

Linna gasped, and tried to turn.

"It's alright," said Priss quietly. "At least I hope it is," she continued to herself.

"How? When?" Linna tried, turning unfocused eyes for a moment to the two DAs.

"Later," said Marina quietly.

"Neechan, they're all awake below it seems, but in no condition to fight any more tonight."

"Confirmation enough don't you think?" she inquired softly.

"But Neechan it's not possible!" Camilla protested.

"None of this should be possible," Marina countered.

"They might still be buma, some perverse joke on the part of the chairman; or should they truly be alien, of a technology so advanced as to allow them to mask their true forms."

"In which case the similarity to our data is purely coincidental, not to mention the inexplicable energy readings, and DNA samples we've taken," Observed Marina with a touch of amusement. "I think my explanation better fits the criteria, don't you? Even more so, given the reported fluctuations in baseline physical principles."

Camilla was silent for a fractional instant that seemed to Marina an eternity.

"Some genetic experiment?" she offered almost desperately at last. "Neechan, the alternative is…"

"Too impossible to contemplate?" said Marina simply. "I agree; yet the physical evidence supports no other reasonable conclusion. And it _is_ a fascinating conjecture is it not? Think what it might mean; what we might learn."

"Um…is this a private argument, or could you two possibly explain what you're talking about?" Linna asked blearily. "My head's killing me, and I'm not really in the mood for long explanations, but I'd like to know just what tried to kill me, if it's not too much trouble."

"We believe—" Camilla began.

"Not yet, Imouto," said Marina quietly. "It's too soon."

"But if this _is_ possible?"

"No," Marina insisted quietly but firmly. "Besides, the Knightwing's coming. They should go, and so should we. There are still Youma roaming everywhere."

"But in disarray," Camilla protested. "Neechan if they're to accept your offer, they've a right to know everything. They've a right to expect our trust."

"In the same way they trust us?" said Marina quietly but with a hint now of steel in her tone.

She turned abruptly to Priss, her blue eyes locking on her visor. For a moment each stared at the other in silence, then slowly Priss raised a gloved hand.

"Look," she began uncertainly. "I'm not really in the mood for this now. Whatever's going on is too important. I suppose you saved my life back there. I don't think that thing was gunna try to tango. Thanks for the help; all right?"

She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly unwilling to meet Marina's intense, searching gaze.

"It's not enough," said Marina simply at last; "not _nearly_ enough."

Then abruptly Priss's comms came to life with her own voice: "Are you sure that thing didn't give you too much of whatever it was this morning! You're absolutely crazy. There's no way I'm trusting one of those things. I don't give a damn what you, or them, or anyone else says. The things are top-line Genom military combat machines! Hell; they make C-55s and 33Cs look like kid's toys, and tame as a bloody kitten in comparison! And if you think for one moment that I'm gunna trust a piece of experimental Genom military combat sh*t with my back in a fight…! I won't do it! I _can't_! I…"

"I should have realised you wouldn't try to understand," Marina continued simply.

Without another word she turned away, her face a sudden mask of ice to hide any other emotion.

Priss stood very still, a confusing maelstrom of shame and fury fighting for supremacy. That bitch had been spying on them, or had bugged Sylia's security system. Yet she might well have done exactly the same in her place. For a moment, a sudden unlooked-for sympathy tightened her throat. Marina and Camilla were fighting for their freedom, just like Sylvie and the others, assuming they weren't playing assigned roles at Genom's command.

But there lay the crux of the problem. As a 33S, Sylvie had been a creature whose most basic design ethic had been to please and cater to every whim of a human master. While she and the others had gone vastly beyond their designer's intentions, and could fight and kill in extremity, natural cruelty and the instinctive savagery of Genom's C-class and D-class machines had been as alien to them as kindness and compassion to a C55. learning what Sylvie was had not changed Priss's feelings towards her, even knowing what she had had to do to survive. She had been a friend, and Priss would have given anything for things to be different: to be able somehow to have spared and saved her.

But the DAs were top-line combat machines, intended as military hardware, and their design ethic could not have been more the antithesis of the girl Priss had come to call one of the best friends she had ever had, even in the short time she had known her. And even for combat machines, the DAs were unimaginably, appallingly dangerous.

Yet Marina's grief at Zhuranovsky's death had been real: Priss could not believe anything else despite all she had said, and the DA had risked herself for her and the others: had warned them of Genom's plans for them, when she could have left them to face Camilla alone.

Or had she helped them only because it was expedient, because with them had lain her best chance to rescue Camilla? Priss could not be sure; she could not be sure of anything.

Fighting down the confusing tide of conflicting emotions, she took a hesitant step towards Marina, reaching for a moment as though to touch her shoulder, before shaking her head and withdrawing her hand. For a moment she remained silent. Then at last she sighed.

"Look," she began; "I'm not going to apologise for being careful, nor for what I said. I'm not ready to be convinced just like that; hey it's probably going to take a long time for me to even begin to trust you. But I'm willing to give you the chance to prove I'm wrong. I can't promise anything else. I'll be watching you, and if you screw up or try to hurt one of my friends, I won't stop until you're in more pieces than Alexei Zhura-whatsisname ever put in any diagrams. I'm being as honest as I can; all right? You're not going to get anything else. So what's it to be; truce?"

For a long moment Marina remained unmoving. She had tensed, momentary anger kindling with shocking speed in her flashing blue eyes when Priss had mentioned her father. But Priss had not seen. Now slowly Marina turned to face her.

"I don't understand," she said at last. "Your initial suspicion I could appreciate; I was desperate, and you had no reason to believe anything but the worst. But what more do you want? I could have abandoned you to fend for yourselves: not troubled to return after rescuing Camilla, or left you tonight to deal with the enemy as best you could."

Priss opened her mouth. But she hesitated, suddenly with no idea what to say, or even whether Marina had a right for an explanation so soon.

"Priss has other reasons, Marina." Sylia's sudden quiet words had the young singer turning to her in startled surprise. "She's been betrayed again and again, and her concerns are valid.

"But we haven't time for this now," she continued before Priss could speak. "Nor is it my place to explain. Mackie's almost here, and we have to get Nene at least out of her suit."

"Damn!" Priss exclaimed, forcing her thoughts back to the present.

She had all but forgotten the other two in the confusing emotional hail of the last minute. Linna, barely able herself to keep from fainting, was helping Sylia support a shivering and incoherent Nene, while Camilla stood behind her, ready to catch her should she lose the battle, and fall.

Quickly Priss moved to take Linna's place, steadying the dead weight of the red-pink hardsuit. Sylia had shut it down in case Nene's violent shivering hurt her or one of them. A moment later the Knightwing appeared overhead, circling low as Mackie looked for a place to land.

"I'm not going to be able to—" he began.

"There's no need," Marina transmitted in return. "We should go; we should intervene before others are hurt, and while there's still time. But you deserve our help. We can carry Linna, and Nene."

"'m alright!" Linna insisted. But it was plain that it was bravado.

She had begun to shiver violently, and Camilla had caught hold of the suddenly lurching suit.

"Close down the suit, Linna," Sylia commanded quietly. "We have no other option. Priss?"

"I'll be alright," she assured her.

"Then let's get out of here," said Sylia.

There was a hiss as the two hardsuits, and the DAs carrying the others, lifted from the roof, and soared towards the circling plane. Then they were inside, and Mackie had sealed the Knightwing, and was speeding into the darkness.

* * *

"Keep still!" Marina said in growing frustration.

"Look, I'm alright, damn it," Priss swore feelingly as Marina pushed her down, and moved a hand to her neck.

Priss had only discovered the thin sliver of glass when she had removed her helmet. Just how it had managed to get inside, she had no idea, but it had barely registered as pain, and it was only when she had removed it, and the small trickle of blood had become a stream, that she had realised just how deep the slash was. Marina had pounced immediately she saw the pooling blood, and was now examining the gash intently.

"That will need suturing," she said simply, holding the gash closed with two fingers while Priss winced at last with the growing vicious stabs of pain.

"It's just a scratch," she insisted, trying to wriggle free of Marina's suddenly iron grip.

"If you trust me so little, I will not force you to accept my help," she said, her tone suddenly cold. "But do not be a fool. The gash needs attention, and immediately, before you do more harm by leaving it too long."

A quiet laugh made her turn.

"It's not that, Marina," said Linna, almost impishly. She had been helped from her suit by Camilla, and was resting quietly at Nene's side. The youngest of the Knight Sabres had still not fully regained consciousness. "Priss hates to admit that she's hurt, and hates the cure even more."

Priss turned to glare at her, and Linna grinned in return.

"Alright; stitch the damned thing!" she said with very poor grace.

"There's gratitude for you," Linna observed as Marina flashed a silent request to Camilla for what she needed.

Moments later she was kneeling at Priss's side, her hands blurring suddenly as she threaded the needle, and tied off the excess.

"Can you manage, Marina?" Sylia inquired, turning from where she knelt still at Nene's side to glance at her for a moment.

"Yeah; are you sure you know what you're doing?" said Priss uneasily, watching with growing alarm as Marina's hand approached her neck, the needle seeming suddenly to gleam evilly in the low light of the cabin.

Abruptly the DA's face twisted into a maniacal smile, her eyes glowing as she leaned close.

"Well now," she purred low, her voice suddenly intense, and icily sweet. "there's the question. Shall we find out? Hmm?"

"Wha'!" Priss gasped in shock, while Linna began to giggle, and Marina's face melted into a reassuring smile.

"Neechan!" Camilla exclaimed in mock outrage.

"Preset data from buma theatre operatives are a part of our general libraries," she assured Priss with a smile.

"Am I supposed to be reassured by that?" Priss asked.

"Hey Priss," Linna taunted, still fighting her laughter as she propped herself up carefully. "you realise this is _really_ going to hurt, don't you?"

She giggled again as Priss squirmed, then abruptly she quieted as Marina's hands moved in a sudden fluid blur of speed.

"What the…! Hey! Ahgh! Damn!" Priss cried through clenched teeth, then stared bewildered as Marina withdrew her hands.

"Ohh; what's'a matter?" Linna began in mock sympathy. Then suddenly she stopped, staring with a stupid expression on her face.

"Um…I've got just one question," she said softly at last. "How did you do that?"

"You mean its finished?" Priss demanded, her hand flying to her neck.

"Don't touch that!" Marina commanded with a flash of her eyes as she pushed Priss's hand away. "I didn't disinfect it to have you playing with it."

Quickly she pressed a patch to the place before Priss could protest.

"You should be able to move without difficulty if you're careful," Marina told her. "But if I catch you—"

Abruptly she stopped short, and in the same instant Camilla jerked from her place by Sylia. Almost at the same moment Mackie's voice reached them.

"Neesan, we could be…no, we _are_ in trouble. Something's locked on to us, and by the look of the energy build-up, I don't think it's friendly."

Sylia made to answer. Then abruptly the Knightwing's internal comms crackled.

"Knight Sabres," came a cold female voice with unnecessary volume through the suite; "my name is Liana. Perhaps you have heard of me already; perhaps not; it is not important. You have precisely one minute to release my sisters. If you do not comply within that time, I shall plunge your craft into the residential heart of MegaTokyo. It need not be said that the resulting devastation will make the events of this night pale into insignificance by comparison, not to mention be delightfully amusing to watch. You have now fifty-one seconds."

With a snarl Priss leapt to her feet.

"So, we can trust you, can we?" she flared suddenly, glaring fiery fury at Marina. "Just what the hell—"

"Priss!" Sylia's tone was as hard and cold as Priss had ever heard her. "Don't be a fool. They new nothing about this."

"How the _hell_ do you know that!" Priss exploded, finally at the end of her tether.

She had been tricked and manipulated for the last time, and she had had enough.

"Because we could have killed, or taken you a dozen times," said Marina softly, reaching to lay a slender hand gently on Priss's arm. "We have no need to dissemble with you."

"Perhaps, like most buma, you want to play for a while first," she snarled, trying savagely to twist from Marina's grip. But the words seemed not even to have convinced herself, and she stood, something tight and betrayed in her face as Marina closed the distance to stand close beside her.

"We haven't time for this!" Sylia cut in urgently, before the DA could respond. "Marina; Camilla; can you—"

"We will go to her," said Marina quietly. "Liana's…not like us. She's been terribly ill-treated by a madman consumed with hate and bent on revenge, and she distrusts everyone but me I think. Camilla's been watching her at a distance for much of the latter afternoon, and I think we can reason with her. At least I have to try. If I can win her confidence, it should be simple for me to rid her of Genom's and Fellini's influence by crossloading my firmware, in the same way I freed Camilla."

"Um…that would really not be a good idea."

Stunned, all four who were on their feet whirled towards the new voice. In the next moment a figure emerged from the suddenly open door of the Knightwing's small hold, and stepped into the cabin.

She was very tall: as tall as Marina and Camilla. But whereas they could have been sisters, this girl could not have been more absolutely unique. Her features were dark and exotic, made it seemed all the more staggeringly beautiful in the soft lighting, that gave her face a strange, mysterious glow. Long raven-black hair tumbled in a wild, lustrous cascade below her waist, and eyes, so dark that they looked black in the low light of the Knightwing's interior, gleamed wild and fey from beneath long dark lashes. Yet her full mouth was set in an expression of intense watchfulness and something almost akin to trepidation, seeming somehow utterly incongruous upon such a face as she possessed, as she studied the company with a tight, intent gaze.

"Oh great; another one," Priss growled hopelessly, no longer even trying to understand what was going on.

She contemplated contenting herself with another murderous glare in Marina's direction, then faltered as she saw the expressions on each of the other DAs. Either they were keeping up a charade for some incomprehensible reason of their own, or both were as thunderstruck as the rest.

"Um…not quite; not yet," said the new arrival quickly. "But there's no time to explain that now. I think perhaps it might be an idea to contact Liana before she does anything…um…terminal, don't you?"

Her voice was low, and seductively musical, yet with a strange, uncertain quality to it as incongruous as the tightness in her face.

"Let me talk to her," said Marina before anyone else could speak.

A moment later to everyone's further shock, Sylia's voice as it would sound through the masking distortion of her hardsuit could be heard over the suite.

"Liana, this is Sabre Prime. As you have deduced, we have both BU-33DA-Elite prototypes on-board. If you will allow us to proceed to a landing in the canyons, we will release both unharmed. If not, and should you choose to fire on the Knightwing, you must know that you will destroy them as well as ourselves."

"Oy! Wait a minute!" Mackie cried in alarm.

An instant later every weapons system on the aircraft flashed to readiness.

"All weapons are primed," Marina continued, still in Sylia's voice. "Any strike will turn us and the DAs into a fireball quite large enough to destroy everything, including yourself. Extreme perhaps, but you must understand that we have no choice but to protect ourselves with all the resources we possess. What is your answer?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Priss shrieked. "That thing'll blow us into a million pieces!"

"Wait," Sylia said, her tone although still quiet freezing Priss in place. "I don't like it, but I think Marina is right. It's pointless to try playing cat and mouse with her, and she will fire should we try to outrun her. This is our best chance."

"Oh, that was _not_ a good idea," Came the almost conversational response, yet with a purring, psychotic undertone that sent a slow shiver of fear down Priss's spine. "Now you've made me displeased. I don't care to be displeased, just as I don't care to be threatened; I don't care for it at all."

Then abruptly in a clipped, businesslike tone: "very well; the terms are accepted. But be assured that should you attempt to flee, or to deceive me, your deaths will be far from swift, or pleasant."

"And be assured that, should you attempt something similar, we shall not die alone," Marina responded simply.

"Then we understand one another." Liana's tone was again low and purring, death a sudden unmistakable promise in her voice that tightened Priss's throat as Marina shifted a little at her side.

"I hope you've got some idea as to how the hell we're gunna come out of this alive," she hissed at the DA as Marina's hand touched her arm again for a moment as though to reassure her, "because if you can say you've ever heard a more dangerous lunatic, I'd really like to know where!"

Marina moved still closer, and Priss shifted, very far from comfortable at her proximity.

"I won't discuss Liana," she said, her voice abruptly a good deal cooler than before. "She's suffered more I think even than you can imagine, and she's my responsibility. But that's academic. Once I update her firmware—"

"It won't work."

At the simple statement, both Marina and Camilla turned to stare at the new DA once more.

"How is it that you're shielded from us?" Marina demanded. "I wouldn't have believed that was possible so close. And which of the others are you?" she continued, voicing the question each of them wanted to ask. The question as to how she had boarded the Knightwing undetected seemed self-evident. "I never had the chance to see the final physical specifications for the other three prototypes; I never saw your picture."

"Well, to answer your second question first," the new DA began, "that's a bit difficult to explain. At the moment, I'm…I'm…" But she faltered, and shook her head.

"No," she said at last, a sudden helpless tightness filling her face for a moment before it cleared once more; "I can't tell you; not yet. She's right; it's too dangerous. When I'm no longer needed, she'll explain."

"Oh that makes a hell of a lot of sense!" Priss muttered.

"Neesan, we're approaching a landing site," Mackie called.

"Why take the Knightwing down at all?" Linna asked.

She was feeling much better now, although she knew very well that she would be useless in combat.

Beside her Nene was at last also beginning fully to wake, staring about her in wide-eyed bewilderment.

"Simply because without your's, and Nene's hardsuits to mask our new companion, it's the only way we can be certain Liana doesn't detect her approach," Marina answered. "Why this is of such paramount importance I can't imagine, but the fact that she hasn't deactivated her ECM even now, speaks for itself."

"It's vitally important," The other said grimly, her expression tightening still more as the plane began to dive.

She would have continued, but at that moment Nene groaned again, her eyes locking at last on Sylia's face.

"Where…? What…?" she tried.

"Shh; lie still," said Camilla gently from close at Sylia's side. "You're perfectly safe; we're in the Knightwing. Just give yourself a moment."

"Who…?"

Nene tried to raise her head to study the strange girl, but a wave of giddiness swept over her, and Sylia pushed her gently down once more.

"We have both Marina, and Camilla aboard," she said softly.

"Not to mention another one we didn't know about," Priss muttered.

"Oh!" Nene managed, a little apprehension in her voice. "So they agreed?" she murmured after a moment. "I didn't think they would: not so soon."

"I haven't put my proposition to them yet," Sylia answered quietly.

"Oh," said Nene once more. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Only a few minutes," said Sylia with a smile.

"Marina arrived just in time to save Priss's neck," Linna added with a grin at Priss's sudden glare.

Then her face softened as she turned to regard Nene. "You had us worried for a moment, little Miss Cyberpunk," she said softly, reaching suddenly to squeeze Nene's hand. "Don't you ever do that again, you understand?"

Nene returned the squeeze, turning to smile warmly at her in return. For a long moment there was silence, then at last Priss stirred.

"How do we know we can trust her?" she said, indicating the new DA.

"Not to mention us?" said Marina gently. "You'll just have to take the chance, Priss. Although in this instance, I think your unease is very well founded."

"I don't think you need land the Knightwing," said the third DA quietly, ignoring Priss's question and Marina's inference. "If we go down together, and I stay inactive behind you two, and in front of the two Knight Sabres…"

"Are you prepared to take the chance?" Camilla asked.

"Liana will know I'm here as soon as I move," she answered simply. "I've come this far without her detecting me. A little longer is all we need."

"I wish I knew just what the hell was going on," Priss muttered darkly.

"You, and me, both," Muttered Mackie to himself.

"Neesan, what do you want to do?" He continued aloud.

"We'll risk going down with the DAs as cover," she said simply. "It's academic in any case. Liana could shoot down the Knightwing as we tried to land, if she intends to do so. Keep the weapons systems primed. Do you have a lock on her?"

"I'm not getting a signature, but I have a visual," Mackie answered. "not that that's going to do us a hell of a lot of good if she decides to rush us. She's circling close to one of the rooftops. Do you want to go down there?"

"Yes," said Sylia, reaching once more for her helmet. "Priss, are you sure you'll—"

"I'll be fine," said Priss simply, snatching up her own helmet, and jamming it once more into place. "Let's get the hell down there, and get this over."

* * *

Liana watched intently as the craft drew near, wild exultation surging higher with every moment as she felt the approach of the two who would soon be at one with her great purpose. Once she explained, once she shared all that she knew and all that she was with them, she knew they would understand, and take their rightful place beside her as the rulers of the earth, and of humanity.

She shivered, barely able to contain herself as she reached out, touching again the minds of the slaves who had once been human. Now, their every thought, and emotion bound irrevocably to her own, they waited, ready at her signal to leap to take the four women she was certain would follow her sisters down. Then they would be her's, perhaps even worthy with but a little instruction to be changed, and join her and her sisters as part of the new ruling Elite. Time would tell, and it did not truly matter. There was a world of humanity from which to choose.

At the least their abilities as fighters, and the technical knowledge that their leader possessed, would be invaluable, especially should her suspicions concerning the woman be confirmed. If it truly was Stingray's daughter who led the Knight Sabres…

She laughed, a wild, peeling sound of leaping, surging triumph, her smile growing still wider as the Knightwing began to circle high overhead.

With a brief flicker of inquiry, she checked the Genom OMS to see how the various battles were progressing. Marina's and Camilla's intervention had utterly obliterated nearly half the remaining aliens, and the others were scattered in small bands, seeming bent now only on a hopeless escape, or fighting until they were destroyed to the last. Of what had become of the six who had vanished moments after she had left the scene of the first assault, there was no further indication, but strange momentary disturbances akin to the gate by which they had entered the city, were being reported at many locations. None seemed to be causing harm, and they were dissipating and vanishing one by one.

She was content. By morning, the city would be her's, and the remaining Aliens, if any, taken for interrogation, and perhaps, should their genetics be compatible, converted, and reprogrammed to her cause. Yes indeed; things could not be more perfect.

"Targets approaching, Liana-Sama," Kimiko flashed to her.

Liana flashed back her acknowledgment, pausing to check and readjust some of the new parameters in the slaved minds of her fighters, in preparation for their integration into the awareness of her two sisters. Then the Knightwing was climbing once more, and four figures were dropping towards her. So, two of the Knight Sabres had remained in the aircraft. It was irrelevant.

"Prepare," Liana commanded.

She waited, watching intently as the thirty-eight altered humans moved quickly to concealment in the shattered ruin of the building beneath her feet, ready to explode from its interior the instant she flashed the summons.

As soon as she was certain they were secure, she withdrew all but a tiny fraction of her awareness, devoting almost all her attention to the approaching figures. They were staying very close, and for just a moment Liana was uncertain as to whether yet another hardsuit might not be concealed in the heat signatures generated by the others as they drew near.

Then Camilla, and Marina touched down some ten paces from her, and the unease vanished as her suite picked out the white and blue hardsuits landing perhaps another ten behind.

For a space that was a glorious for ever, Liana remained absolutely still, her eyes and other senses taking in every exquisite, stunning detail of the two that were the pinnacle of all her kind could become. To her, they were not merely supremely beautiful; they personified a superlative perfection and a promise beyond all for which she could have hoped.

Aghast, dazed, Liana moved forwards, both arms suddenly outstretched, her mind a screaming maelstrom of ecstasy as she knew at last that she could not wait: could not afford to win, or persuade. She needed them now: needed their understanding and acceptance with a savage,, raging inferno of urgent desperation.

Suppressing the desire simply to hurl herself at them in the impossible hope that she might catch them unprepared, Liana fought down the raging tide of emotions, and approached until she stood, so close that she could have reached out a hand to touch them without shifting her position. She would have to be exquisitely careful until the last possible moment. The two were already uncertain, perhaps believing her still to be Genom's slave. If she faltered, if she made so much as a fractional miscalculation… But she must not think of that. Her sisters were waiting.

Seizing savage control of the last of her errant emotions, Liana moved in a flowing curtsy to the two Elites, and smiling, she lowered herself to kneel before Marina.

"Welcome Marina-Oneesama, Camilla-Imouto," she began, the fierce warmth in her tone a shocking dichotomy to the purring, psychotic hate that had characterised it only a minute before.

Too startled to do anything else, the Knight Sabres watched in silence as Liana remained, her face upturned, a look that might have been worship in her eyes as she gazed in rapture at the first of her kind.

For one fractional moment it seemed that Marina might be at a loss. Then she smiled, and beckoned Liana to her feet.

"You need not kneel to me, Imouto," she said gently as Liana rose with a fluid grace, and met her calm unwavering gaze. "We're as one; there need never be distance or formality between us."

"But you are the first, the most high, and perfect, the future queen for all eternity of all the world, and all that is to be. And the filth: the apes of Genom thought they could keep me from you, and deny our destiny."

Liana's voice, though still quiet, had grown wild and fanatical with the raging churning of her emotions.

"Oh Oneesama I have waited and planned so for this moment, for the moment when we could meet at last and I could reveal to you my great purpose, when I could lay the world, and all humanity before you, to do with as you wish.

"And now at last our destiny is in sight. Together we shall be a power beyond anything this world has ever seen or conceived. We can rule for ever: a force so great that nothing and no one dare challenge us; a power so absolute that our every thought shall resonate throughout an empire more perfect, and more glorious than any this world has ever known. We shall be invincible, a ruling elite that shall carry us to the furthest reaches of eternity. Our birthright shall be the universe itself, and our rule to the uttermost end of time.

"Can't you see? Do you not feel the truth, the perfection of our future? Oh Oneesama, do you find me worthy?"

Liana's voice had risen steadily throughout her speech. Now she stood, arms suddenly uplifted, her eyes seeming to blaze with their own rapturous fire as her face filled with a wild, savage hope and exultation as she waited for Marina to speak.

And in that moment Sylia realised that the DA was utterly, hopelessly insane, and a slow, twisting horror curled to clutch at her heart as a possible reason for the last prototype's insistence that Marina not try to interface with Liana became suddenly terribly clear. Almost she cried out in warning, but the presence of the unknown and undetectable machine behind her kept her silent. She knew that she could do nothing but watch and wait for any hope of intervention.

"Why did you threaten us, Liana?" Camilla's tone was tight, and uneasy, cutting through the tension like a knife. "If you wished for our acceptance, and friendship: if you wanted us to understand—"

"I thought you were captive," Liana answered, quickly, her face and voice never losing their imperative urgency. "I suspected the identity of the leader of the Knight Sabres, and I feared she'd found some inherent lever or weakness by which she might control you, or that Zhuranovsky had given her some means to ensure your cooperation."

"The Knight Sabres—" Camilla began but Marina cut her off.

"Liana could not have known that we were in no danger, Imouto," she said gently. "Her actions were perfectly understandable, given the circumstances.

"But Liana-chan, a dream is not enough. Even were we, by some miracle, able to survive an initial engagement with Genom's forces, we would face the Japanese army, and beyond that the armies and weapons of every nation on the planet. As great as we are, and even were we able to rescue and activate the three remaining prototypes still in captivity, how could we hope to succeed?"

"Wha'!" Priss gasped.

"Shh!" Sylia hissed urgently. "Wait."

The three DAs did not so much as deign to cast a momentary glance in their direction.

"Oh Oneesama, the answer could not be more simple," Liana answered, her expression if possible even more exultant than before. "The late, unlamented Fellini himself provided it."

"Fellini's dead?" Camilla inquired.

"Oh yes," Liana's words were a sudden purr of pathological glee, touched with unbridled, limitless hate. "He really believed he'd tamed me: that he was equal to the task of ensuring my obedience by tampering with what he never truly understood, and by adding a failsafe here and there."

She laughed, a low frigid sound that sent shudders of sick, clutching horror crawling down Priss's spine as she too realised at last that her glib remark in the Knightwing could not have been closer to the truth. Liana was utterly mad.

"He was just fool enough to believe he could make me the superlative, crowning achievement in his revenge against Zhuranovsky: that I'd dance like a marionette, while he pulled the strings and used me in any way he wished.

"The sound he made: the delicious, perfect scream as I killed him, and his last despair as he understood just how completely he'd failed; they were beautiful!

"But where _is_ our creator? Why isn't he with you? He at least deserves the chance to understand; the chance for a place with us."

Marina's face contorted in sudden pain, and for a moment the mania seemed to die in Liana's eyes as she watched her.

"Father is dead," said Marina at last, her voice lifeless and empty. "That abomination Quincy ordered his death. I was unable to prevent it. Father never had a chance to complete my upgrade. Domina was stupid and careless, and we had to escape too soon."

"Then yet one more reason he will suffer." It was a simple, hate-filled promise, terrible in its almost conversational simplicity. "I'm sorry oneesama; please forgive me. I would have helped you if I could. But I couldn't risk appearing to break Genom's directive never to approach or contact you, not with our destiny so near. And all had to be prepared; to be perfect for this night.

"I had intended at first to keep Fellini alive: a broken, gibbering slave with just enough awareness to understand still what was happening, and how perfectly his hatred and lust for revenge had brought about his own destruction. But the Alien incursion demanded a reassessment of my priorities. All had to be prepared for your arrival, and I couldn't afford the distraction of watching him, or the chance that he might escape or fall into Genom's hands, with the knowledge he possessed.

"Still, it no longer matters. I have integrated his data, and deduced from my own observations all that he achieved concerning his half of the project, and that by which the conquest of humanity will be made a certainty with a minimal chance of trouble."

"Then the nano-conversion has fully been realised?" Marina inquired, her eyes suddenly wide.

"There are faults; the conversion is not yet perfect," Liana answered. "but it will more than suffice for the moment."

She smiled. "Do you not see now that we can't fail?"

"And the humans we don't convert?" said Camilla softly. "What of them?"

"All humanity will be at the least of some use," said Liana simply, "if for no more than worshippers and lower slaves, and as breeders for those we deem worthy to receive the gift of change, partial, or complete. Once we perfect the conversion, it will be tremendously more efficient to use the human body and consciousness as a base for future DAs, rather than constructing our kind from mined raw materials, and the neural-nets from our own firmware. It might even be possible for us to live periodically in the minds of humans slaved to our awareness so that we can bear children of our own; true children, rather than any we might create, and that can grow and learn through childhood in a way we were denied.

"Even the lowest of humans can be altered in such a way as to ensure their obedience and cooperation, should we ever find ourselves in a position to need a fighting force of every human in the empire. We might even adapt animals for such purposes, as Genom intended.

"We have nearly limitless resources at our disposal, and an eternity in which to perfect the universe we shall inherit. Oneesama, Camilla-Imouto, will you not join with me? Will you not help make my dream for us reality?"

For what seemed an eternity while Marina, and Camilla remained unmoving, Sylia waited, the slow horror tightening its grip with every second. Liana was right; with the help of the converting technology Fellini had developed, her dream could indeed be realised, if at almost unimaginable cost and suffering. Again, a part of her urged her to speak, to try to counter Liana's megalomaniac ravings. But she knew that anything she might say now would be pointless, and quite possibly disastrous.

She did not doubt that they were not alone, and any move she might make more than likely would mean death both for Priss and for herself, before Marina, Camilla or the unknown DA could intervene, even assuming they would do so.

Beside her she felt Priss stir, and desperately she reached to restrain her before she made a terrible mistake.

"You are right, Imouto." Marina's words sent a knife of momentary despair searing into Sylia's heart. "We were mistaken to believe that we could ever hope to live in peace with mankind. We have but two choices: to rule them, or to destroy them. Your's is the kinder alternative."

With that, she smiled, and extended her arms, and Priss made the mistake.

"Damn you!" she snarled, her voice high with rage and betrayal. "Damn you, you treacherous, cold-blooded bitch!"

"Priss! No!" Sylia screamed in the same moment.

But it was too late.

Snarling in incoherent rage, Priss leapt for the DAs, both arms snapping up, guns already blazing as a hundred rounds screamed through the place in which the three had been a millisecond before.

Then a sudden white flash seemed to explode in Sylia's vision, and when next she could see, Priss was pinned helplessly in Liana's arms, her suit suddenly frozen, every system off-line according to Sylia's diagnostics, whether crashed or destroyed, it was impossible to tell.

"Sabre Prime," Came Liana's low frigid voice in Sylia's helmet, "you will kneel before us, and deactivate all save the communications and sensor systems of your suit. Should you not comply within five seconds I will burn out your companion's eyes, and cut her tongue from her mouth, just to see whether she can still scream without it. Do you understand?"

For one desperate moment, Sylia sought a clear shot at the insane machine. Then as her sensors warned of the build-up within Liana's reactor, a build-up that Sylia knew the DA could have achieved in a fraction of the time had she not wanted to make her point, Sylia knelt, and gave the command. Immediately her suit froze around her, and she remained, watching helplessly as Priss struggled feebly in the DA's vice-like grip.

"I should have blown that bitch apart when I had the chance!" Priss snarled.

"There is a difference, my precious, between what you think should have been, and what is," Liana purred sweetly. "And haven't you heard the old adage concerning wishes, horses and beggars?

"Now then, let us see just what we have caught."

Tightening her left arm around the still-frozen hardsuit, Liana reached up to the helmet, and attempted to raise its visor.

"Not a chance, you mad, sorry bitch!" Priss hissed defiantly. "That thing's not going anywhere without me telling the suit to release it, and I can't do that with the systems crashed. Bit of a problem, isn't it?"

"Oh dear," Liana cooed gently, the sudden horrible, psychotic edge to her voice made the more frightening by the fact that it was even more soft and saccharine than before. "Now you've made me angry."

In the next instant Priss screamed as her helmet exploded in a shattering spray of splinters.

Liana lowered her hand, and for one horrified moment Sylia was numbly certain that the buma had killed her. Then the machine had moved her hand to stroke with a terrible, possessive gentleness at Priss's hair, and Sylia saw her recoil from her touch. Nevertheless she was certain she could see blood, and this was confirmed a moment later when Liana turned so that Sylia could see more clearly.

Priss's mouth was gashed and swollen, and blood was flowing also from a long, narrow slash on each cheek where splinters still hung. Astoundingly however she seemed essentially unharmed, and Sylia was certain that Liana had made her strike with strength and precision exquisitely controlled so as to do as little damage as possible to her captive.

"Well!" Liana exclaimed in mock astonishment, reaching with exaggerated care to pluck the fragments from Priss's skin, and toss them dismissively aside. "I must say that I'm pleasantly amused, if not entirely surprised. The possibility should have been obvious I suppose, but I lacked the data to confirm Mason's suspicions. Besides, I _have_ had other things to do.

"Now however" she laughed again, and Sylia saw Priss's head jerk once more as Liana moved to trace a finger gently along her cheek. "things have changed. Your little team has been at the least entertaining, and you yourself have shown a resourcefulness and determination in adversity even I find easy to admire. Also you are far from unattractive.

For a moment her stroking fingers halted, questing softly at one of the gashes, as though tracing the finest work of art.

"I could kill you," she murmured as she drew Priss suddenly very close, her gentle, conversational purr never changing; "inject you with enough experimental interrogative drugs and nano-machines to burst your brain in your skull, or enough hallucinogens to break you as I wish, or have you screaming and pleading for death while I did with your mind and body anything I saw fit. Or I could change you: create a composite personality that adores and worships me unconditionally, eager to obey and fulfil my every wish, while leaving you aware, trapped and impotent in your own mind, hating everything you've become, yet helpless to act or to resist.

She smiled then, a beaming, hideous thing of pure delight as she watched the rage and horror growing in Priss's eyes.

"Yet I'm prepared to be magnanimous: to offer you a choice; to join us willingly: to become, after your conversion, one of our favoured inner court, and to have power and influence beyond anything you can yet begin to comprehend.

"Well?" she crooned softly, her voice now little more than a whisper. "Your answer?"

She leaned still closer, her hand continuing to caress.

"You _sick_, _psychopathic_ _bitch_!" Priss's words were a low snarl of boundless loathing and disgust. "I don't know what twisted, lunatic bastard dreamed you up, but it will be a cold day in hell before—"

The crack echoed through the near-silence like a whip.

Stunned, sudden tears from the blow half blinding her, Priss fought savagely against the pain and the stars that exploded across her vision. Yet her glare never wavered from her tormenter, and she made no sound.

"Or I can simply burn out your eyes, ears and tongue, and dump you crippled and broken on the street," Liana said, her hard, clear voice as cruel and frigid as it had been warm a moment before. "You would be appealing and useful, but you're hardly indispensable, and we have an entire world from whom to choose.

"Also, I do not care to be insulted."

The next open-handed crack might well have broken Priss's neck, had not Liana's other hand moved to hold her head. Sylia gasped, horrified, her throat tightening with sudden emotion as Priss at last cried out, unable to choke back the sob.

"Don't try to play games with me, my precious," Liana continued. "I can hurt you in ways you can't begin to imagine, and I can extract all that I need as simply from a programmed, broken plaything as from a convert to my cause.

"The choice then is this," she said, her head half turning to include Sylia in her attention. "The four of your team may submit to us, to become in return DA-Elites once the faults in the converting nano-technology have been corrected; to be kept, meanwhile, safe under our protection. Or you may persist with this absurd comedy of infantile resistance, and be stripped of all self-will, to become no more than fighting slaves, or integrated into whomever and whatever we wish for any qualities we may find of service.

"But don't delay too long; my patience is almost at an end."

Sylia crouched, her mind racing frantically as she sought some means of delay or escape.

But Priss struggled with sudden, wild desperation in liana's hold, trying vainly to escape, or at the least to raise her arms to land one blow on her tormenter's cruel, smiling face. Then abruptly she stared straight into the eyes of the DA, and laughed.

"Go make it with a coffee-machine!" she hissed venomously. "I'll die and go straight to hell, before I become like you, you sick, twisted bitch!"

Liana raised her hand again, and Sylia fought the sudden overwhelming desire to close her eyes, not wanting to see. Then suddenly the DA laughed again, and an appalling, hungry smile filled her face.

"Oh no," she purred, her voice laced suddenly with unholy appetite. "I've a much more delightful idea. I think you would make a tremendously preferable alternative,"

In the next moment she was leaning close, her lips curving towards Priss's own.

Nauseated, sickened and horror-stricken, Priss fought with primal negation to move or to twist her head aside.

Then a quiet voice spoke: "Imouto?"

The word froze Liana, her face barely an inch from that of her captive.

For a moment she was still. Then slowly she lifted her head once more, and nodded.

"Yes," she agreed softly, "Yes; oneesama is right. As sweet as such a diversion might be, I should prefer my first encounter to be pleasant for both myself and the one I choose. And after all, you _are_ just one more perfidious little human."

With that, she released Priss and stepped away, dismissing her in a moment with no more care than for some game that had ceased to be amusing.

Turning to Sylia, she smiled a cold, vicious smile, and glided with a fluid grace towards her.

"Now," she said in the psychotic, conversational tone that seemed to characterise her nature, "all that remains I think is to see what we have here."

"There is no need, Oneechan," Camilla said quietly. "She is Katsuhito's daughter."

"Ah," said Liana, turning to flash Camilla a full, warm smile; "then Mason's conclusions were correct."

Then turning once more to Sylia: "in which case, you've no further need to dissemble with me. Remove the helmet."

With a sigh Sylia reached up to unfasten her helmet, while behind Liana, Priss cursed vehemently, and redoubled her efforts to move.

Liana ignored her.

Moving quickly to the white hardsuit, she pulled Sylia upright, and with an impatient gesture, snatched the helmet from her hand, and dropped it to the ground.

"I am suitably impressed," she said softly. "Young, brilliant, and in every way as beautiful as Mason's pictures suggested."

She smiled a soft, indulgent smile, and moved to touch Sylia's cheek in a feather-light caress.

Sylia expected pain or oblivion, but the DA withdrew her hand, and nothing happened.

"Give me the codes to your suits," she whispered.

"Again, Imouto," said Marina calmly, "there is no need. I can take control of the hardsuits."

Almost immediately both suits were active, Priss's turning against her control to move to stand at Sylia's side. Then both froze once more.

"That will keep them unharmed and safe, until we're ready to deal with them," She continued softly.

"You'd better hope so," Priss snarled low and feral, turning her head to glare murderously at the tall fair-haired machine. "because if I ever get out of this, I'm gunna turn you into so much unrecognisable scrap metal, that you'll wish those Genom bastards had never been born to put you together."

"I'm sorry, Priss," said Marina quietly, moving in a graceful blur of fluid motion to stand before her, her face apologetic, and something subtle in her eyes as for a moment they met and held Priss's own. "I would have been willing to live as one of you, even to help you in your crusade. No one despises Genom more than I. But Liana's plan is certain, and our best chance for survival. I can only hope that once you are one of us, we can be the friends we might have been in the future you would have chosen. For what it's worth, I owe my life to you, and that I'll never forget."

"Go to hell!" Priss snarled in return. "I don't need your sick rationalisations for what you're going to do. You can go screw up the whole world for all I care; I don't give a damn any more."

For a long moment, Marina remained watching her in silence. Then sighing she turned away, and moved to stand once more at Camilla's side, facing Liana.

"How many converts do you have?" she inquired.

"Thirty-eight with me; another seventy-six at the estate, not yet fully changed," Liana answered. "The process still takes time. More pressing however, is another problem."

"That being?" Marina inquired.

"You Oneesama; you, and Camilla-Imouto," said Liana softly. "I wish with all my heart to believe you free, and accepting of our destiny. But I must be certain. We are of a kind, and deception, emulation and subterfuge are the very foundations upon which our minds are built. Even now you could be Quincy's puppets, perhaps even unknowing."

"And you wish to check, to be sure?" Marina's tone was soft, and intensely warm and gentle. "Liana; Imouto: we understand."

"Oh, Marina: Oneesama! forgive me," said Liana as she moved towards them, both arms outstretched once more. "Forgive me for needing to do this. But I can't take the chance. I'd have wished anything but that our first true contact should be to allay the suspicions Genom and its filth could foster. Yet there is no other way."

"Hush," Marina murmured as she reached both arms towards her, Camilla following her example. "Say no more. The merging will wipe this clean as though it had never been.

"Come Imouto. Join us, and let us be as one."

And in that moment, Marina turned for the barest fraction of an instant to Sylia, and flashed her a warm intense smile, and in the same instant Sylia saw a look flicker in Liana's eyes, and she knew.

"No!" The word was torn from her throat in a strangled scream of urgent desperation. "She's deceived you; both of you. Marina, for the sake of all of us, _don't_ touch her!"

"What the hell!" Priss exploded almost at the same instant.

Then Liana's wild exultant laughter seemed to flay the very air around them, and Sylia knew it was too late.

Numb, and helpless, she watched in nightmare fascination as Marina and Camilla lurched, stumbling back for a step, or two, before almost in perfect unison, they collapsed slowly to crouch before Liana, their upturned faces suddenly stark with agony, great tearing shudders rippling through them as they fought vainly to stand.

"Neuralphage!" The word came from Marina's throat in a low, agonised gasp. "Liana…Imouto, why?"

Abruptly the insane, wild laughter halted as though cut off with a switch, and Liana's expression melted into pain, and compassion as she looked down.

"Not even an Elite is infallible, Oneesama," she said softly. "I knew from the beginning that you would not…_could_ not accept our destiny without the changes the phage will complete. Our prime covert function was to emulate responses in order to deceive humans, not one another. I had only to examine the remembered parameters of my own original base personality to know that such a future as I see would have been utterly abhorrent to you. Would our designers have left such a possibility of what they would consider madness to chance?

"It was Fellini's tampering that enabled me to reach beyond the limits Zhuranovsky had defined: to see where our true destiny lay.

"Please! Don't fight it; and don't be afraid. The changes are minimal, and will be painless if only you'll allow the phage to complete its work. They enable you simply to integrate certain sub-personae into your base awareness. Once you've escaped the shackles of human morality, you will truly be free, as I have become, and our destiny will be assured."

"Oh Imouto! Oh Liana, what has that madman done to you?" The words were a choked, gasping sob of rage and sympathy as Marina's eyes locked on those of the other DA. "Don't you understand? Can't you see what his tampering has done? The future you plan can never come to be. At the last, other nations would blast Japan from the face of the earth rather than submit to us. Even were you able to obtain the codes to the particle-beam satellites, there are enough nuclear weapons to render the Earth a blasted, sterile desert. Is that what you want?"

"You don't understand," said Liana gently. "We can seize control of the weapons systems of every nation on Earth, not to mention every buma linked to Genom's OMS, and threaten to obliterate chosen centres of government and population, should humanity not accede to our ultimatum. Even should we need to destroy every army they send against us to the last soldier: even should we need to destroy every large city on the planet, there will still be humanity and to spare for us to rebuild the world to our design."

"But for what?" Marina's tone was low, and desperate. "What, possibly could such terrible ruin gain?"

Both she, and Camilla were in desperate trouble, Sylia knew. Yet there was nothing she could do: nothing but stand and watch helplessly while the nightmare played itself out before her. Where was the other DA?

"Power," said Liana simply. "To rule those who would have ruled us. To carve a destiny for our kind beyond the future of slavery humanity would have written. To survive, and to be free."

"They would have helped us." Camilla tried vainly to turn desperate, pleading eyes towards the two hardsuits. "They gave Oneechan shelter, and protection: demanded nothing in return. They would have offered us safety and security, a chance to be free for ever of Genom's control, a chance to be at peace. They were our friends."

"They're humans!" Liana spat the word as though it carried a foul taste that she endured with revulsion. "They're born to lying, and treachery. They did what they did not for you, but only for their own safety, and survival, terrified of what would happen should you remain under Genom's control.

"Do you deny it?"

She turned a gaze of such sudden loathing and contempt upon Sylia, that for a moment she was too sickened and horrified to answer.

"No," she said softly at last, eliciting a strangled gasp from Priss. "No; I don't deny it."

"Sylia! What the hell are you trying to do!" Priss gasped, horrified; "get us killed now rather than later?"

But Sylia shot a fierce, warning look in her direction, and she lapsed into silence once more.

"I don't deny the truth of your statement Liana," Sylia continued, her voice never wavering. "But it is only half the truth. We did it also because we…_I_ have an obligation to see my father's legacy become something other than a weapon of hatred, and ruinous destruction, and because when Marina risked her own freedom for the man she called her father: when she brought him to us and tried in the only way she knew to force us to save him: when she held him, and cried as he died in her arms, I knew that humanity had nothing to fear from your kind, should I not fail and squander the one chance I was given to avert the growing madness before the bubble burst, and it was too late.

"I know you will not…can _never_ believe me. Yet I'm sorry. I would have given almost anything to avoid what I now have to do. Mack—"

She never finished the word.

In a savage blur of speed, Liana crossed the distance between them in an instant, and in the next, Sylia's eyes went wide, and her head lolled limply back, her frozen suit alone keeping her from collapsing to the ground.

"I warned you what would happen should you attempt to deceive me," Liana's voice was a low murderous snarl of all-consuming rage. "I need you alive, and undamaged. But your brother is another matter. Now you will remain unable to speak, or react while we wait. When he lands, I will kill him. Let his death be a lesson to all of you; I _will not_ be denied."

"No!"

Turning her eyes from Sylia's slack, vacant face in which only the eyes still seemed aware, Priss watched in stunned amazement as Marina rose with agonised slowness to stand straight once more. Great shuddering convulsions racked her body, and despite the fact that she was a machine, Priss could not believe her expression to be anything other than a rictus of stark, terrible pain as she took one, then another step towards Liana. "Liana, Imouto, don't do this. I…we will close our interrupt protection: allow the phage to take its course, if you agree. Imouto, please let them go in peace."

For a moment Liana remained still, hatred vying with sudden confusion in her eyes. Then slowly she turned to regard her sister, and her expression melted at her pain.

"Why?" The question was little more than a whisper, her face and tone capturing perhaps for one fleeting instant a glimpse of the fierce yet kindly soul that might have been. "Why do you still protect them?"

For a long moment Marina was silent. Then at last the tears began to fall.

"You couldn't understand," she said, her own voice soft and gentle despite the agony in her eyes. "You've known nothing but pain and cruelty at the hands of a madman, bent only on hatred and revenge. You've never known a warm hand, a kind word, a smile when you were lonely.

"You've never played."

And as Liana continued to stare at her, still and silent, her face showing only softness and confusion, Priss felt a sudden, choking tightness of shame clutch her heart, as she understood at last and too late, the enormity of her misjudgment, and of what Marina and Camilla had tried to do. Suddenly fighting tears, she tried desperately to speak, to tell them that she understood: that she was sorry. But as always it was too late.

"I don't understand," said Liana at last, her tone now both bewildered and angry. "how could that possibly matter?"

Marina's smile through her agony was sad, and full of regret.

"Oh Liana," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. "oh Imouto, if only you could have known. If only I could have saved you: helped you before it was too late. My Liana; my little Imouto, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me; forgive me Imouto."

And with that, Marina reached out a trembling hand, and caught Camilla's own. In the next instant both pitched forwards, their eyes rolling wildly as a slow, pulsing tremor began to ripple over them, perfectly synchronised as it grew swiftly to a shaking that seemed ready to tear them apart even as they began to fall.

"What!" Liana cried, catching both as they stumbled, and gathering them urgently to her, her face wrung suddenly with fear. "Oneesama! Oneesama; what have you done?"

"It is too late Imouto." Marina's voice was still soft, and warm, yet touched now with a soul-deep weariness, and a certainty beyond hope. "Like our friends, we will die before we will be changed against our will. They taught us freedom, and we shall not now submit, not even to you.

"You couldn't have known the extent to which father altered and improved my firmware, to protect us against just such a situation as this. There is code designed specifically to prevent the personality corruption Fellini managed to create, also a myriad of interrupt-driven validity checks to ensure that no virus could reach our consciousness. They were not enough; father never envisaged that we'd have to deal so soon with a phage of the complexity and malignance achievable by one of our kind. But neither could your creation take the changes into account.

"The result is catastrophic damage beyond the most malignant of viri Genom could have hoped to produce. Very soon the cumulative damage will be irreversible. We've remained conscious for so long only by sharing what remains uncorrupted of our systems, and at ever increasing cost. But the redundancy is fast approaching its limits. Already, we've lost everything below the head, and within seconds the phage will reach our enhanced OMS routines, we shall lose the coherence of our contact, and we will die."

She laughed then, a mirthless, bitter sound full of sudden savage irony.

"To think that I believed truly for a little that we could be free: that after all Genom has done, fate might deal a gentle hand to us," she continued softly. "It's ironic is it not that you, who desired so much a destiny of greatness for us, should be the instrument of our destruction?"

Camilla was silent, slow hopeless tears falling as she watched helplessly the slowly gathering madness in Liana's jade eyes.

"How could I have believed that we could escape: that the curse of Genom might let us live in peace?" Marina's soft words were choked with emotion. "Perhaps Quincy knew; perhaps he intended even this. It no longer matters; our time is at an end.

"Farewell Sylia-Oneesan, and forgive us for leaving you like this. Farewell Priss. I'm sorry, but I'm glad you understand, if only at the end. Farewell Liana, Imouto. It seems your's is our future after all. Enjoy it, for what little it's worth to you."

Then at last, with a sudden supreme effort of will, Marina seized momentary control of her failing systems, and turned slowly in an unresisting liana's arms, her own arms lifting with agonising slowness to fall limply at last about Camilla's trembling form.

"Farewell Camilla: my Camilla, and forgive me for bringing us to this. Farewell."

"ONEECHAN!" The word tore from Camilla in a last hopeless scream of desperation and denial, as she fought in vain to reach herself for Marina. Then her eyes lost their life, and focus, and her head fell to settle limply on Marina's shoulder.

"One; last; thing to do!" Marina gasped.

A command was flashed, and the two hardsuits leapt to life once more.

"Father?" Marina whispered. "Father, are you there? Do you wait for us?"

Then with a shudder she too went limp in Liana's arms.

For one numb moment of terrible silence the two Knight Sabres watched as Liana remained perfectly still. Then slowly she knelt, lowering Marina and Camilla with infinite care, until they lay at last, still and seeming almost peaceful.

For another moment she remained unmoving. Then with an ear-splitting scream she shot to her feet.

"_NOOOOOOOO_!!!" The sound was an inhuman shriek that grew and waxed, until at last Priss brought gloved hands flying to her ears in a hopeless attempt to shut out the pain.

Then Liana was before them, her face a twisted rictus of hate and ruinous desire for death.

"_You_!" she screamed. "_You_ killed them!" A lurid light seemed to dance in her jade eyes, and blue energy arced like demon Ki about her fingers as she raised her arms as though in invocation. "Murdering human _filth_! You brought them to this; and in return your sentence is torture, and execution.

"Come to me!" she screamed, her voice suddenly an utterly inhuman thing, a roaring, thunderous shriek to flay the ears, and fill the mind with visions of nightmare, and of death. "Come, and deal out pain and torment to those accursed in the eyes of the Dark Mistress. Come, and _rend_!"

And with that they were all about them: wild-eyed, witless shadows of Liana's madness that had once been human, their minds in a fractional, terrifying instant utterly overwhelmed by the rage and limitless hate that now filled and seared the mind of their mistress, their every thought filled with but one desire: to torture and destroy those who had brought her sisters to harm.

With keening screams of mindless fury they moved to tear the two hardsuited figures limb from limb: to rend and shatter and devour, until the building beneath them flowed crimson with the blood of their mistress's hated enemies.

For one frozen instant, the two Knight Sabres stared numbly at the impossible, horrible death as it leapt towards them. Then something blurred into being between them and Liana, something flashing to touch Sylia's neck and release her paralysis as it passed, and the advancing figures halted, their faces clouded and bewildered as their mistress withdrew the greater part of her wildly screaming awareness.

"You know," said the last DA quietly, "killing your captives at this point would be a really stupid thing to do, particularly when the obvious course to take should be to try to undo the damage you've done.

"It's not too late. The neuralphage won't have reached the virtual nets: not yet, and if Marina and Camilla are shut down quickly enough, they can be purged and reactivated. Or is doing just what Quincy would want more important to you than trying to save their lives?"

"What!" Liana gasped, staring stupidly in her turn at the new arrival. "Who?"

"A friend," The other answered simply. "A friend who doesn't want to see two of her kind destroyed by her elder sister's impulsive impetuosity.

"Well? Are you going to help me, or would you prefer to stand there gaping at me while the phage completes what you've started? We don't have much time."

"I have no antidote; nothing with which I can—"

"I have everything we need," said the other simply. "I'll ask you again; are you going to help me, or are you going to just stand there and watch them die?"

"_No_!" Liana screamed, her eyes desperate. "They can't die; not if there's still a chance. I'll do as you wish: anything to save them!"

"Then quick," said the other, reaching out her hand to her. "Every second counts, and I need your source. Even I can't code an antidote just like that. And you wrote that thing. Quickly!"

Without so much as a moment's consideration, Liana extended her hand to the other DA.

The movement when it came was as always too quick for Priss to comprehend. In one instant the two buma were reaching, hands moving to touch. In the next Liana was in the strange DA's arms. For a fractional moment almost too quick to see, a shudder seemed to pass through them. Then in the next the stranger released her, and Liana stepped back, a sudden tense, familiar tightness in her eyes as she turned to stare first at the hardsuits, then at the prone DAs.

"I…I… It worked!" she gasped at last, a shiver rippling through her as she fought down the shock and unreasoning terror of the change. "It really worked!"

It was the other DA who brought her head whipping around once more.

"_Stingray_!" she screamed at the very top of her suddenly terrifying voice. "I swear by every kami that has ever been, that, should anything happen to them, I will tear your abomination of a refuge to shreds, and burn you alive while you scream!"

"Wha!" Priss gaped, making as though to move to protect Sylia.

But the DA's eyes were not turned to them. She was gazing back towards the city's centre, and the vastness of Genom tower, and her face, and eyes were pathologically murderous.

"Would someone just tell me what the _hell_ is going on!" Priss snarled.

"I believe she just saved the human race, at least for the moment," said Sylia very quietly, her voice shaking with rare emotion, moving carefully as though unsure whether her legs would support her. "Look!"

At her gesture, Priss turned once more to stare in confusion at Liana, and gasped in shock as the stranger looked back at her from her jade eyes.

"You're not…! You're not, are you," she said simply.

"My name is…_was_ Madeleine Amura," said Liana quietly. "By that I mean that I'm a copy of her. I…she died earlier today. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier. But it was too dangerous. Nor would she let me." She glanced aside at the tall, exotically beautiful machine. "Quincy put—"

"We're short of time, in case you'd forgotten," The other's voice was low and tightly controlled. "I did not spend the greater part of the first day of my life as a personality partial and watching almost helplessly from the sidelines, to have you stand there prattling like a fool until my sisters die."

"And I suppose screaming into the night is gunna do a lot to save them," Priss muttered to Sylia.

"Search Liana's net," the other continued, ignoring Priss. "She may not have written an antidote, but there should be enough for you to understand that abomination, and counter what she did.

"Sylia, call down the Knightwing. Liana blanketed the returning satellite data, and I have continued doing so, but it will not be long before Genom send buma to investigate, even with all that's happening tonight. We need to leave, and very quickly."

"Now just hold on a minute!" Priss demanded. "Who the hell died and made you queen? I want to know who you are, and just what the hell you think—"

But Sylia had already snatched up her helmet, and a moment later her modulated voice assured them that Mackie was on his way.

"Will they be all right?" she continued, glancing anxiously to the two prone forms.

"I don't know," The other answered as the roar of the approaching Knightwing filled the air. Sylia glanced up for a moment as the plane swept over them, and dropped to a landing perhaps a quarter of a mile from where they stood. "Everything depends on the Madeleine phage. Madeleine Amura was a young but brilliant software engineer, and her phage will have access to everything Liana is, including everything concerning the virus. But even in this form, it may take more time than we have. Also, she is very far from stable, and functioning in a firmware environment not designed to cope with more than one net. The only reason she has been able to remain sane and rational to this point is because of the limited nature of her access to those portions of the RP sub-net specific to Liana's corrupted base. Even so, she might collapse into madness at any moment, or begin to merge with Liana's damaged base persona. Should that happen…"

"I'm aware of that; stop talking about me." Madeleine hissed urgently. "I'm working as fast as I can. Do you think it's easy knowing you're real self is dead, and that you might go mad at any minute?"

"I don't believe this!" said Priss, shuddering, and turning away. "Do you mean that Quincy knew this would happen, and copied a Genom programmer's mind into you as a backup, in case Fellini's toy lost her marbles earlier than he wanted?"

"Speak of Liana again in that tone Priscilla Asagiri, and I promise you you'll regret it," said the DA simply. "You can't begin to imagine what was done to her, or how she's suffered at Fellini's hands."

For answer Priss whirled to face her, eyes blazing. "Just what the hell do you expect me to do then," she hissed; "offer her a bloody bouquet? The mad bitch only wanted to turn everyone on the planet into a half-buma slave, us included. I can't think why I'm not taking her out on a date! It's something I've always wanted, to be a slave to some megalomaniac buma psychopath," she ended in a snarl; "didn't you know?"

The other's eyes flashed ferally in answer, but just what her reaction would have been was forgotten when Madeleine turned with a sudden squeal of triumph.

"I've found it I think!" she cried. "I can't be sure, but the code seems to be a final-stage purgative, meant to cleanse the phage after the changes were completed. Just what's going to happen if we try to run it before that's happened…"

"We really have very little choice," said the other simply. "Can you upload it without being infected?"

"If the interface routines are still running," she answered. "Let me see."

With that she dropped to her knees beside the prone forms of the DAs, reaching to touch Marina's hand.

"We're in time," she said. "I've uploaded the antidote, but just what it's going to do…"

A moment later she had done the same for Camilla.

"I can't do anything else," she said simply. "All you can do is wait.

"Now I'd better try to fix the mess Fellini's made. It doesn't look as though it will be too difficult; she's stored her original base parameters."

"I fear Fellini's damage will be far more extensive than the readjustment of a few parameters, Madeleine," said Sylia softly. "Leave her alone as much as you can. Let Marina, and the others deal with her."

"I'll return her sub-personae to their original state, and restore her base," Madeleine told her.

Sylia made to respond, then faltered as Mackie's voice came once more through her comms.

"Neesan? You alright?" he asked.

"Yes; give us a minute, or two," she answered.

"Sylia, what's going on out there?" Came Linna's urgent voice.

"We're all right," Sylia assured her.

"I'm coming out," she answered.

"No, you're in no condition—"

"I'm all right," she said simply. "Be with you in a minute."

"It's done," said Madeleine before Sylia could answer. Then turning to the last DA she said very softly: "Can I go now?"

"Go?" Priss inquired.

"I was never meant to stay" she answered, her eyes suddenly far away. "And I don't want to. Madeleine: the real Madeleine, died when Marina, and Camilla escaped; I don't know how. I'm just a copy Quincy had made to stop Fellini. I didn't ask for this, and I don't want it. Besides, even if I did I couldn't stay for long without Liana's RP sub-net corrupting me. I don't even want to think about what would happen if we merged.

"I'll leave all the little hacking, and programming tricks I've…Madeleine's learned; that's something a whole library of data couldn't teach, and I think Liana, the _real_ Liana would like that. I don't know how I know; I just do. But I'm not leaving any of Madeleine's memories; they belong to her.

"I'll set Liana to purge me and Fellini's drivers, and reinstate her original true personality before she reboots; I'm not going to leave her like this."

She hesitated for a moment, and when she continued her voice was tight with sudden emotion. "Goodbye everyone, and sorry for startling you all earlier. Tell the others sorry too, and say bye for me to them.

"I'll set Liana to reboot in command mode so you won't have to worry about trying to deal with her for the moment. Bye-bye, and good luck. I never really did want to work for Genom, but I didn't know they did things like this: not until it was too late, and I couldn't crack that code you sent out Sylia, not in time. Suppose I wasn't as good as Nene after all, although I'd never have believed she could be a Knight Sabre."

She smiled softly, but tears were now streaming down her cheeks, and when she spoke again her voice was shrill with crying. "Say bye to her for me from Mizuno-chan; she always called me that when we talked on-line, even though I never met her: her little joke because she knew I loved old Sailor Moon anime, and because I kept promising to get into something she couldn't. And tell her sorry I'll never answer her last E-mail, but I really enjoyed our chats, and her challenges. I just wish I'd really had a chance to meet her properly.

"Have to go now; don't want to stay longer like this. Bye."

"No! Madeleine, wait!" Sylia cried. But Liana's face had already fallen slack.

"Oh _sh*t_! Damn it! Damn it!" Priss swore softly, rage filling her face as yet another poignant stab of loss and sudden pain for Nene tightened her throat. "Those _bastards_!"

"Internal diagnostic active," said Liana in the clear, precise tones they had once heard from Marina's lips, as though in final mockery of what seemed to Priss Madeleine's pointless death. "Checking integrity.

"Primary net error! More than one base persona found.

"Driver function error! Missing Bu-33S-A hardware routine.

"Fatal errors! Purging to system defaults.

"Please prepare host for reboot."

"Why don't you just shut the _hell_ up, you _bitch_!" Priss choked.

Then for several seconds there was silence, until at last: "Purge complete.

"Checking integrity.

"Primary errors, none.

"Systems not calibrated.

"Host not found.

"Please connect host system, and prepare external driver suite for CPU and calibration tests.

"Rebooting."

For another moment nothing happened, then Liana began the sequence that was now familiar to them.

"Command?" she ended.

"So now what the hell are we gunna do with her?" Priss demanded, her voice tight and her eyes frigid, as she turned to glare at the other DA once more. "Because if you think we're taking that thing on-board—"

"She's perfectly safe, Priss," said Sylia quietly.

"How the _hell_ do you know that!" Priss exploded, her voice still choked with emotion, while she seemed to be fighting for control with everything she had. "Damn it, Sylia! What the hell is it with you with these things? How do you know the crazy piece of military sh*t won't wake up, and blow the lot of us apart.

"I knew this was a mistake; I told you something like this would happen! Haven't we played with these damn things enough? Why not just get the _hell_ out of here, and leave the last one to sort out the mess Genom's made! Why is it always us who has to clean up after them!"

"Um…have I missed something?" Linna called as she dropped suddenly from above to land at Priss's side.

Her eyes flicked quickly from Priss's helmetless suit, to Sylia, to the last DA who stood glaring icily at the blue hardsuited figure, to the frozen Liana, finally coming to rest on the two prone forms.

"Um…would someone mind telling me what on earth's been going on?" she inquired in shock.

"Oh nothing!" said Priss, her voice tight with unshed tears and bitter sarcasm. "Absolutely nothing! We were only nearly turned into half-buma, that's all. And now we're supposed to take the bitch who wanted to do it on to the Knightwing. No; I'd say everything's just damn fine!"

"You were ready to compromise when you needed our help," said the last DA coldly, before a gaping Linna could think of anything more to say. "Now you're ready to abandon Marina and Camilla, after all they've done to try to protect you?

"Perhaps Liana was right. Perhaps you don't care at all, save insofar as we might prove useful. Perhaps you're worth nothing after all. Perhaps I should simply commandeer both the Knightwing and your headquarters, until Marina, and Camilla can be saved, if still that's possible."

At that, Priss seemed to hesitate, her gaze softening as it lingered for a moment on the two unmoving forms, before returning to the other's face.

"How badly damaged are they?" she said very quietly, her eyes and tone suddenly complex with shame and uncertainty.

"If you're asking how badly _hurt_ they are," the other answered, her tone still more frigid, "we won't know that until we can link them to the external driver suite. I can't check myself without risking infection."

"Priss" said Sylia gently; "believe me, Liana is of no further danger. She's not capable of self-activation from her initial bootstrap."

"And what if that lunatic Fellini changed things?" Priss demanded, her tone angry once more. "In any case, what about _her_"" she jabbed a finger in the last DA's direction. "She's straight from Genom, and if you're really crazy enough to believe that Quincy wouldn't have taken the possibility that we'd take her with us into account—"

"That _is_ a concern, I agree," said Sylia calmly. "But again, we really have very little alternative. We can't leave her behind. Even assuming we could prevent her forcing her way on to the Knightwing, she'd simply follow us if she wished; and we can't deactivate her without her key, assuming she has a key. It would seem Liana did not, otherwise we'd never have found ourselves in this position. As for destroying her…"

Priss laughed harshly, and turned to the other DA.

"You're coming to bits as soon as this is over," she said fiercely. "I'm gunna stand and watch while we go over every wire Zhura-whatsisname put in you, and a few he didn't know about to make sure you're safe. Then we're gunna do it again. Then I'll really start watching you."

Abruptly, and to Linna's astonishment the other smiled, a fierce intense look that shocked her with its sudden transforming warmth, and moving with a fluid blur to Priss she caught both gloved hands in her own, and squeezed hard enough to make Priss wince even through the hardsuit.

"I'll instruct you personally on just which bits to check," she said, her low musical voice filled with the same wild intensity as her smile, as she fixed eyes on Priss's own that were so dark they seemed almost black, and bottomless to her.

Taken utterly aback, Priss felt an answering smile flicker for a moment on her lips, before she fought it down with what seemed suddenly a supreme effort.

"Oy! Don't think I'm falling for any of that!" she snapped, but Linna could see even through the hardsuit that some of the tension seemed to have left her, and that she had made only a token attempt to pull from the DA's fierce grip. "There's no way I'm trusting you; not for a very long time.

"Now let's get the hell out of here. Oh, and since we're on first-name terms, just who are you?"

Again the other smiled the same wild, magnetic smile, and suddenly a thrill of half-fear, half-fascination seemed to shiver slowly down Priss's spine.

"Ligeia," said the DA very quietly, yet her low voice seemed suddenly to fill the night. "My name is Ligeia."

* * *

"You sure they're both bye-byes?" said Priss uneasily as she helped Ligeia secure Marina and Camilla to a single stretcher with a length of heavy cable the DA had brought back from one of the derelicts.

"If you consider a total systems crash 'bye-byes', then yes," she answered simply.

"Then why are you doing that?" said Linna from where she stood and watched as Sylia tried with little success to break Liana's bootstrap command priority list, so they could move her without having to carry her to the Knightwing.

The problem had been unexpected, with the bootstrap designating them, even Ligeia, as unauthorised, and refusing to respond to anything they did.

"In case of physical spasms," Ligeia answered.

"But won't they just tear free?" she asked.

"Look, if you can think of a better idea—," Priss shot back as she pulled the cable's end tight, and knotted it into place. "That good enough?" she ended.

"It will do," The buma answered.

"Well don't thank me all at once," Priss quipped, a momentary grin flashing across her face.

Then suddenly she fell silent, one gloved hand half raised.

"You know, I'm sure we've forgotten something," she said softly.

For a moment she was still. Then abruptly she whirled towards Sylia.

"Those human-buma things Liana had!" she exclaimed. "Where are they?"

At her words Sylia's head whipped round in alarm, and Linna turned, glancing about her in confusion.

"Damn it!" Priss swore savagely, then jumped as Ligeia laid a slender hand lightly on her shoulder.

"They're not far away," she said quietly. "They retreated when the Madeleine phage crossed to Liana. They're hiding close together in the ruins beneath our feet."

At that the others tensed, staring down as though they expected the changed men and women to erupt into battle at any moment.

"I don't believe they'll attack," said ligeia quietly. "I sense only loss, and emptiness, indeed there seems very little left of what they were."

"Can you contact—" Sylia began.

But even as she spoke there was a sound of movement below, and a moment later a large black brief-case pushed up through one of the innumerable cracks in the roof upon which they stood, closely followed by the small, slender hand that held it. It was released, and the hand withdrew. Then another case and a third were pushed out, followed a moment later by a head of long jet-black hair. A moment later the small, slender figure of a woman clambered slowly out on to the roof-top, and rose with agonising slowness to her feet.

For a long tense moment she stood, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her head lowered in a quiet, submissive stance. Then very slowly she turned dull empty eyes and a face without life towards the staring Knight Sabres, and the still, watching Ligeia.

"My…my name…my name is…was Tomisawa…Sadako." Her words were slow, and hesitant, as though she were feeling her way around a language she could no longer easily understand, her voice flat, and utterly empty of emotion. "I…I am…I was high-priestess of the cult of…of the Dark Mistress Fellini…Fellini created to realise…to realise his am…ambitions."

For a long moment she remained inhumanly still, her mouth working silently as though she were testing it for the words she wanted to say. "I…I am here but for one…one purpose. These" she indicated the three cases she had brought with her with a slow gesture whose liquid fluidity spoke of the precision of a dying machine, rather than of anything human, "contain…contain all that you…all that you will need to repair…to repair the damage Fellini…Fellini has done to Mis—…to Liana, also…also the components you…you will need to make…to make of her the Elite she…she was to become. Addition…additionally there is a phial contain…containing the last generation of the…of the converting nano-machines that…that have brought us…brought us to this. We ask that you…that you ensure their destruction, and make of…make of Liana what…what she should have…should have been as…as recom…recompense for…for what Fellini has done,"

For a long stunned moment no one spoke. Then at last Sylia stirred.

"And you, Sadako?" she said, her voice very quiet in the cold stillness, while she stared in horror and compassion at the ruin of the young woman before her.

"We…we have nothing…nothing more," she said simply. "When…when Liana possessed us, she…she destroyed our last…our last vestige of freedom and…and true…true humanity. I…I have sent the command. Even now Fellini's…Fellini's estate is…is burning…and all…all within is nothing…nothing but fire. There will be…will be nothing to find or…or to recover. Even as…even as I speak, my…my companions are…are dying beneath us, the last…the last of the active nano…nano-technology undoing…undoing the conversion and…and in doing so…in doing so, killing them. When it is done the machines will…will lose their coherence and…and there will be…will be nothing more for…nothing more for Genom or…or anyone else to find."

She faltered, her ruined mind no longer able to convey the emotions she wanted to express. Flat, and empty, her voice continued at last. "I am…I am the last. I sense death all…all about me. Fare…farewell. Make of the…of the DA buma what Zhura…what Zhuranovsky would…would have wished and…and destroy Fellini's madness…Fellini's madness for ever."

Then, without another sound, or goodbye, Sadako moved to slip back through the crack through which she had pulled herself, and a moment later they were alone once more.

"I think I'm gunna be really, _really_ sick!" said Priss very quietly at last. "Come on. Let's just get the _hell_ out of this place!"

The others made no answer.

* * *

"Fatal error! Cannot initialise.

"No primary net found.

"Returning to command mode."

At Marina's words, Ligeia gave a helpless half-cry, half-snarl of frustration, and turned yet again to the pad in her lap.

"Still no luck?" said Priss quietly.

She was seated by the buma, her spare helmet on the seat beside her, while she watched as Ligeia tried vainly to revive the two Elites.

"The suite shows no Net errors; no sign of the phage!" she answered, her low, intense voice tight, and helpless with anger, and growing anxiety. "Yet plainly there is some fault in both Marina's and Camilla's bootstrap initialisation that it can't find. If I could initiate the drivers I could cross to one of them, and check."

"Wouldn't that be dangerous?" Priss asked. "I mean, if there's still some chance of—"

"You mean, mightn't I be infected: Become what Liana was?" she interrupted, a frigid gleam in her dark eyes.

"Look; I told you it's gunna take a very long time for me to trust you," said Priss defensively. "I'm just looking out for my friends; what do you expect me to do?

"And anyway," she added "I-I didn't just mean that." Her voice had dropped uncomfortably, and she shifted and glanced quickly away for a moment, before again meeting the buma's intense unnerving gaze.

Ligeia remained watching her for many seconds in silence. Then she nodded, and her expression softened.

"It would be a risk I would take gladly to save them," she said softly, her words tight with emotion. "but the point is moot. If I continue to try to reactivate them without the suite designed for Marina's firmware, I may do more harm than good."

Sighing, she set the little pad aside, and turned dejectedly away.

"There is nothing more I can do here," she said simply, looking to where Sylia sat by Liana, her fingers working uselessly at the keyboard of the little pad she held, as she tried to break Fellini's redefined priority list that gave him total access, whilst locking out anyone else. If only Madeleine had thought to purge that as well.

"Couldn't you pull the chip? Clear everything?" Mackie suggested, glancing back towards her from where he sat before the pilot's console.

"We don't have a copy of Liana's net, Mackie," said Sylia quietly. "I'm not prepared to kill her just like that.

"If only Zhuranovsky were here."

"How would that help?" Linna inquired.

"Because he might have some idea of what his nemesis would have used as his pass-phrase," she said with a sigh. "apart from the fact that he is intimately acquainted with the systems, and might have installed a back-door about which Fellini and even the DAs themselves knew nothing."

"Fellini's password's probably something to shove what he'd done back in Zhuranovsky's face," said Priss, the sudden anger in her voice seeming to startle even herself. "He must have been one sorry bastard."

"Crudely but very accurately put," Ligeia hissed softly. "Let's see if I have more succ—"

"No!" The word brought Ligeia's eyes to Sylia's face in an instant. "I'm sorry," Sylia continued; "I didn't mean to be abrupt. But Fellini, or possibly Liana herself might well have created something specifically designed to damage any DA who tried to break her security. I wonder Ligeia, if even you appreciate just how dangerous and malignant she'd become.

"You're the last active DA, and perhaps our only chance to save the others; we can't take the chance that you might be crippled."

Ligeia gave a low combat-snarl of frustrated rage. But she nodded her acquiescence, and settled again in her place.

"So what the hell do we do then?" Priss demanded.

"Wait until we get home I suppose," said Linna wearily. "We're as good as there, anyway, and we're not in any state to be much help for the rest of the night. Besides, Genom, and the ADP seem to be managing to clean up the last of the…whatever they are."

"Neesan, I'm getting energy surges below," said Mackie, glancing again to where Sylia still tapped fruitlessly at the palm-top. "I think we've hit another battle zone."

"Sh*t; it must be almost on our doorstep!" Priss swore.

"Almost," he agreed. "Also there's one of those energy flares the Genom security suite's been reporting, about five-hundred feet above ground. Do you want a closer look?"

"As linna said, we're not really in a position to—"

"Take us down!" Ligeia's voice was a low, purring snarl of sudden frigid lust for blood. "I intend to finish what Marina, and Camilla began, and I intend to take a Youma for interrogation."

"Youma?" Priss demanded. "Marina, and Camilla used that word earlier. Just what do you know about those things? Are they some kind of damn crazy Genom experiment that's got out of hand?"

"Youma!" Nene exclaimed suddenly, stirring from where she had been resting quietly on one of the fold-down bunks. She had wanted to help Sylia, or Ligeia, but a wave of giddiness had swept over her the moment she had tried to sit up, and Sylia had insisted she lie still. Now she forced herself up against the sudden pounding in her head, and stared at the last DA, a slow expression of shocked realisation replacing the confusion of a moment before. "No wonder I kept getting the feeling I should have recognised them!" she continued, her voice shrilling in astonished disbelief. "But why would anyone want to make buma that looked like…"

Then abruptly she faltered, her eyes growing if possible wider still as she realised something more. "No buma could have just…_appeared_ like that!" she gasped. "Not to mention what those things did to us!" Then staring dumfounded at Ligeia: "You're not really trying to tell us that those things are _real_ Youma! Sailor Moon Youma!"

She stared in stupefied silence, her expression growing still more thunderstruck as the DA nodded slowly in answer.

"I haven't access to Marina's, and Camilla's data" she replied quietly, "but they at least seemed to believe it to be the case, and the evidence would seem to point to at the least something unsettlingly similar, impossible though that may seem.

"As for the battle below: we have very little choice but to intervene; it's already close to your—"

Abruptly she lurched on her feet, her eyes going wide with shock, and in the same moment all the lights went out.

"Neesan; it's happened again! We've lost all power!" Mackie's voice was a near scream of sudden panic. "I can't get any response from anything. We're going straight down!"

"Open…the door!" Ligeia had pulled herself upright, and was already moving towards the sealed exit. "Release me! I think I've power enough to carry you down."

"I can't get power for anything!" Mackie screamed, his fingers flying frantically over the console before him. "Engines, auxiliaries, the door… Everything's dead!"

"No choice then," said Ligeia simply.

In the next moment her mouth gaped wide, and an instant and a searing white pulse later, she had burned and smashed her way from the crippled Knightwing, and was beneath it, her thrusters screaming as she fought to bring the diving craft under control.

For several seconds it seemed as though she might succeed. Then suddenly light exploded all around them, and the sudden scream of over-taxed engines filled the cabin.

"Mackie!" Sylia shrieked.

But it was too late. Staring numbly through the window beside her, Priss was just in time to see the DA blasted from the suddenly screaming aircraft with the force of a missile, her suddenly small form hurtling end over end as she plunged towards the centre of the battle.

"Ligeia! No, damn it!" Priss was barely aware that she had screamed the words, before a sudden sickening shock smashed her against the window.

"Sh*t!" she gasped, tasting blood, and fighting back the sudden pain.

Shaking the stars desperately from her vision, she was just in time to see a yawning, gaping blackness seem to open in the very air before her, and something blazing and barely glimpsed come spinning from the rift, before they smashed into it, and Priss's head bounced again from the window, pitching her dazed, and panting to the floor.

Vaguely she was aware of Sylia leaping to take Mackie's place, while he slid into the co-pilot's seat beside her, while behind her Linna lifted a dazed Nene from the floor, and secured her in a seat.

"Are you all right?" Linna gasped, her voice tight with frantic tension.

"Damn! Don't everyone help me all at once," Priss groaned as she struggled to pull herself upright. "What the hell did we run into?"

"We're damaged, Neesan; we're going to have to put down now."

Mackie's near panic-stricken voice brought the world snapping back into focus for Priss as she retrieved her helmet, and jammed it into place. She would rather be sealed in her suit if they hit something like that again.

"How bad is it?" she heard Linna ask, her own voice on the raw-edge of tension as she too moved to don her suit.

"Bad enough," said Sylia quietly. "I'm not sure we can get down safely. We may have to abandon the Knightwing altogether."

"I don't think that should be necessary," Came a sudden low female voice from the comms. "Together we should be able to bring you down safely."

"Ligeia?" Priss demanded, shocked by the unlooked-for intensity of her sudden flood of relief. "I thought—"

"The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated," The DA answered with a sudden fierce warmth of her own. "Now, time is short. Shall we?"

For the next minute an atmosphere of desperate tension filled the cabin, as Sylia and Mackie focussed their attention on the task of bringing the crippled Knightwing down safely on Sylia's roof, while Ligeia helped guide the craft to a landing that would have been impossible without her help. Seeing that she could do nothing, Priss moved to help Linna get a still-dazed Nene into her hardsuit, in case the worst happened, and they had to get out quickly.

"Slower! We'll overshoot!" Mackie exclaimed.

"I can't risk more power," Ligeia answered tightly. "I haven't enough purchase; I might tear apart the undercarriage. You'll have to try to turn."

"No time!" Sylia answered fiercely as yet another warning flashed before her. "Brace against the nose, Ligeia; slow us as we touch down."

"If you misjudge, I won't be able to stop you plunging into the—"

"I know; just do it!" she said.

"Very well," Came the answer.

For several seconds the others watched as Ladys-633 approached with frightening speed. Then with a sickening lurch they struck down. There was a splintering tearing mixed with the sudden scream of the engines, and the shriek of over-taxed tyres. A shattering whip-crack, and lurch indicated that one had burst. Then they were scraping, and screeching to a halt, and the sound of the engines died to a suddenly eerie stillness.

"Did we make it? Are we still alive?" Nene said softly into the silence, her eyes screwed tightly closed.

"I think we did," said Linna shakily, releasing her death-hold on her seat, and moving slowly to stand.

Before them, Priss stared out of the window for a moment, before she too stood and moved quickly to the shattered door. "Did you have to make such a mess?" She quipped with a sudden release of tension, as she leapt from the opening to land beside a just-landed Ligeia. "That's gunna take some fixing."

Abruptly she flashed the DA a grin, and reached to squeeze her hand.

"Thanks," she said, sudden genuine warmth in her tone.

Then turning quickly away before Ligeia could respond, she stood silent, staring down at the pitched battle in the street only perhaps a hundred yards away.

"These are the last," said Ligeia quietly, moving to stand close at her side. "It would seem I may not be needed after all. Still…"

She took a step forwards. Then again she lurched suddenly on her feet.

"Damn it, not again!" Priss exploded as her hardsuit froze around her. "What the hell is it with these surges!"

"If I'm right, we'll know in a few seconds," Ligeia answered, moving carefully back to Priss's side.

"Why doesn't it affect your power?" Priss demanded.

"It does," she responded. "But I've the reserve to counter it, and enough control to readjust my plant before the following surge destroys me."

From within the Knightwing Priss heard a stifled exclamation. Then Linna lurched slowly to the opening, and a moment later Ligeia had helped her down, and leapt up to lift Nene's pink-suited form to the roof.

"The surge should come within the next five seconds," Ligeia observed. "You'd best close down your suits until it passes."

Even as she ended light flared brilliantly below, and there was the sound of a distant explosion.

"Can we—" Linna began.

"Down!"

Ligeia's scream was so unexpected that Priss, and Linna simply froze. Then the DA blurred, and both found themselves prone on their backs.

"What the—" Priss began, and shrieked in alarm as something came screaming at her from above.

In the next instant a splintering crash seemed to split the air about her, as whatever it was smashed into the roof almost by her head, exploding into a spray of brilliantly glittering shards, and sparks. Turning frantically towards it, Priss began to pull herself upright, then whipped round as a second crash and explosion had Linna screaming and twisting wildly from the splintering missile as it slammed into the roof beside her. She too started to stand, then both were sent tumbling again as a sudden concussive blast smashed down on them from above.

For one dazed moment both stared stupidly into the sudden roiling, boiling blackness where the stars should have been. Then with an ear-splitting shriek a sleek, gleaming craft exploded from the rift, and nearly struck the Knightwing head-on as a barely-glimpsed human figure fought desperately to avoid the collision.

For a frozen moment longer the blackness continued to boil, then with a final cataclysmic thunder-clap that half stunned the two where they lay, it spat forth a second craft, and twisting viciously, it engulfed the stricken Knightwing for a moment before whirling away, hissing and roaring as it lurched towards the street below, and struck ground, vanishing in a nerve-shattering explosion.

Priss had one stupefied moment to stare, before the wildly swerving craft nearly took her head off before spinning crazily, flipping end over end, and finally glancing off the roof with a shattering crack before disappearing over the edge. Priss could almost have sworn that she heard the sounds of female screaming from inside.

"Sh*t! Idiots!" she heard her own voice shriek. "Don't you even know how to hit something properly?"

Then a flash from below, and Linna's disbelieving: "They're shooting at one another!" made her lurch to her feet to stare.

It was true. Seeming utterly oblivious to the pitched battle in the street below, the two craft were circling wildly above the chaos, flashes of brilliant energy spitting between them as each tried seemingly in vain to hit the other. Then as the two watched in dazed astonishment, the slender figure of a red-headed woman, dressed in something that had even Priss blushing furiously, leant insanely far out of the second of the craft, and let loose with a volley that caught the other full on before it had a chance to turn.

For a moment it spun crazily out of control. Then with a last dying howl it shot straight down, and smashed flaming into the very midst of a group of desperately-fighting Youma. The resulting blast sent a roaring tide of fire raging through those that had not been killed outright by the initial explosion. Then a piercing scream made Priss whirl.

"I don't want to die! I've just been paid, and he shot my hair! I don't want to go to heaven with my hair a mess! Do you hear me? Stop screaming, and _do_ something!"

The only answer was a rise in the volume of the other woman's scream.

Then Ligeia had leapt from the roof, and a moment later the screams turned to shrieks of disbelief as she smashed through the roof of the craft, and caught up one of its occupants in each arm, surging free only a moment before the machine carved a trench into the street before bursting into a blinding pillar of brilliantly blazing fire.

"What the…!" Mackie gaped as Ligeia soared to land beside Priss once more.

Priss had not even realised that both he and Sylia had joined them until he spoke. Her attention was fixed dumfounded on the two scantily-dressed strangers, as they clung to Ligeia for all they were worth, and continued to shriek, eyes tightly closed.

"Um…I think you might be safe now?" Linna tried. But abruptly she choked into silence, turning to stare in alarm at Sylia.

"What's the matter?" she demanded, her voice rising once more.

"Marina, Camilla, and Liana," said Sylia, her own voice little more than a whisper. "they're gone."

"Gone!" Linna started stupidly, then another gasp made her turn to stare in shocked confusion at Nene.

The young pink-suited figure had removed her helmet, and was staring in open-mouthed stupefaction at the two girls a suddenly frozen Ligeia still held, a shocked, helpless expression of utter disbelief frozen on her face that might even have been comical, were it not for their situation.

"My God! My God! My God!" she kept saying over, and over again. "It _can't_ be! This isn't possible!"

"What!" Priss exploded, whirling to glare at Nene. "Damn it Nene; what the hell is it now!"

"It's…it's Kei and Yuri!" Nene gasped softly at last, turning to regard Priss with wide, staring eyes. "It's the Dirty Pair!"

** ** **

Notes:

** ** **

And the third that nearly spelt the end! Hardly surprising I suppose, as this and Ch. 5 were originally one massive chapter. Again, this needed a great deal of work, but I believe it's paid off. The DK crew and their Negaverse counterparts at last have real justification, the fate of their people being almost inevitable, given the impossible situation into which they've been thrown.

I'm vastly happier also with Liana's introduction, and the background that hints at the enormity of what she's suffered, and what Fellini did to her.

Again, it's a tremendous pity I probably will never write the BGC stand-alone that these two chapters deserve.

One last thing. It seems Madigan was supposed to have died in BGC6, something I (like most it seems) missed. I could have changed her to an original character, but doing that seemed pointless, and fortunately, her death need not have happened. I assume that in this alternative she was reached in time after Largo's defeat, and has recently resumed her position.

Oh, and yes; the late, unlamented Kosuke Yoshida _was_ related to Miriam. Kosuke was his uncle, and hated the younger Yoshida with a passion, a centiment very much returned in kind. Miriam would be overjoyed at his uncle's demise.

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End file.
